Geneforge
by Nijojo13
Summary: Based on the game by Spiderweb software- but also based on *MY* playing of the game. Includes first 6 chapters- it is a rough draft so there are holes to be filled in later. Constructive criticism welcome.
1. Chapter 1

Geneforge 1Martin 14

Chapter 1- A New Path

Chapter 1- A New Path

"Shaper school?" Andras stormed in, paying no attention to the guards posted at the door that told him to wait until he was called. He planted himself in front of the heavy wooden desk, panting and trembling from anger. The shock of his assignment was fresh in his mind. He had stood on the platform before the Council of Education expecting to be sent to finish his training as an Agent. He was finally twenty-two, the youngest anyone was allowed to begin their real training. He had been looking forward to this day for the last ten years, and in a single word and nod of a head the only life he knew was taken away from him. Shaper school?

"Tell me this is a mistake. I'm the best Agent prospect in my class and you know that! The only way this could have happened is if _you_ ordered it."

Kristoff sat on the other side of his desk and didn't acknowledge the entrance with any more than a casual glance over the top of the large leather volume held in his hands. Being a high ranking official on the Shaper High Council he was accustomed to others showing him far more respect, but he expected no less a reaction from his hot-tempered son.

"Indeed," came the indifferent answer. He slipped an aged arm out from under his heavy wine-colored robes and waved off the guards who came to rescue him from the tirade.

"Why?" Andras demanded. He didn't care that he was seconds away from being dragged out of the office with his arms twisted behind his back. In fact, he was daring the guards to try it. It would be a fine time to test out what little combat training he actually had, even though he would be doomed to lose in the end. He didn't care right now.

"A path was set for you by your family. You are being called to follow it now."

"Path? What path? Of being a Shaper? Let Margus follow that path. He _wants_ to be a Shap-"

"Your brother is dead," Kristoff cut in. Andras was held quiet by shock. He examined the old man's face for signs that what he said was not true. He could not find any.

"How?"

"An experiment gone awry." That normally meant a creation bigger, faster, or stronger than its maker hatched from the incubation chamber with little intention of following orders. Many Shapers died that way, but Andras never thought Margus would be one of them.

"How is that possible? Margus… he was too…"

"Smart? Yes. Fast? No. An apprentice Shaper is no match for a rogue Battle Alpha." Andras had heard murmurings of a Battle Alpha that turned rogue in the Shaping hall on the eastern side of the school earlier that day, but he still couldn't imagine his brother falling victim to such a dumb creature.

"The weight of your family's legacy now rests on your shoulders, Andras. This is what you must do… for your family's honor. You would not deny us that, would you?"

"Deny _you_ that!" Andras corrected, the volume of his voice rising even more. "This isn't about anyone else but you. That's all it's ever been about."

"Careful…" Kristoff growled his warning. Andras ignored him.

"Why should I be denied what _I_ want because you think it would be a failure to have anything less than a Shaper for a son? Margus followed that path. You _had_ a Shaper for a son. Why is that not enough?"

"You are forgetting your place."

"I haven't forgotten my place," Andras retorted. "You spent years reminding me where that was… in the shadow of my _perfect_ brother! He hasn't been dead for a day yet and you're already trying to turn me into him. Until today you never even had a second son!" He knew the moment it slipped from his mouth he shouldn't have said it, but if he chanced to forget it even for a second, his father's hand as it pelted his cheek and sent him stumbling back served as a solid reminder.

Kristoff rose to his feet, his face more red with anger than his son's and his slender frame shook beneath the heavy robes as he fought to contain his own fury. "Son or not, if you ever show me that kind of disrespect again you will spend a _month_ in the Cell. Do you understand?"

Andras refused to answer. He had nothing but hateful or spiteful remarks running through his mind and he couldn't have conjured up a respectful reply, even a "yes, if he wanted to. He hated this man. Hated everything about him and hated being forced into becoming a Shaper like him. He hated the Council delegates for declaring him a Shaper, and he hated his professors, especially Tanor, for not saying otherwise. He hated all his friends who would become Agents when he couldn't.

At the moment, he even hated Margus.

"Now I am going to ask you one more time, and I suggest you think your answer through very carefully. Will you honor your family and accept your duty to become a Shaper?"

For the first time since he stormed in Andras made eye contact with his father, and the moment he did the seething hate he felt started to build. There was a glint of victory in the other man's eyes. Kristoff had Andras cornered with no choice other than to accept. If he didn't he knew his father would see to it that he was sorry, and his hopes for becoming an Agent were already dead hours ago. The delegates didn't change their mind, and Andras couldn't afford to alter their decision. His father bribed well.

"No," came the defiant reply. That was the breaking point. Kristoff ordered the guards to "escort" his son out of the office and out of his sight to the Cell where Andras could _think_ his behavior over in silence and solitude. He had the luxury of spending a night there once before and he was none too eager to repeat such a stay, but there was nothing he could (or more appropriately _would_) say to change his father's mind.

He fought against the hands that held him, but it was a half-hearted effort at best. It was more for show than anything else because he knew he was doomed to a night in that awful prison and a struggle would only make it worse. Nothing shy of begging for forgiveness could reverse that decision and Andras was not about to lower himself to that level.

Down several flights of stairs and narrow halls they went until they reached the heavy wooden door that locked the Cell away. The Thinking Cell, the Cell of Solitude, whatever someone wished to call it, it was all the same; a small, dark room with no windows other than a small barred opening in the door. It stank of urine, mold, and other unpleasanties. There was no bed other than a pile of hay tainted with mildew and drinking water was left in a rusty pitcher where it had likely been sitting for days. There would be no food to fill his empty stomach, just the putrid smells of those who had been disciplined there before him.

He stumbled to the ground as they tossed him inside, then he turned and charged the door only to have it slam in his face as they walked away, leaving him alone in the dark. Even though he knew it would do nothing for his benefit he kicked the door, the thunderous sound resonated in the stone halls, but nobody was coming back for him. Not until dawn. He soon gave up his angry antics and resigned himself to a seat on the hard ground, knees drawn up and face staring upwards into the black abyss. He was glad Margus wasn't around to see this.

With nothing but darkness, and the occasional sound of dripping water to occupy his senses, Andras let his mind wander. He began thinking about the trials that occupied his time for almost a week. They had been a thrill, the Agent trials in particular. He soared through them, most of the challenges were far too easy, almost insulting, for him with the exception of the last (which was largely due to his professor's loud boasting). He flew through the Guardian trials, reigning as one of the top students in the sparring, but to be certain they didn't pick him for that rank he missed his targets when throwing the javelins. That wasn't his strong suit anyway, but he doubted even the book-obsessed Shaper hopefuls could have missed those. But at trials he had to show the Council of Education delegates that he was best suited for Agent work, or he could be picked for something else.

The Shaper trials were boring in comparison to the rest. He had to demonstrate capabilities in chemistry, alchemy, shade or ghost detection, and most of all control over creations which was a necessary skill for when one would start shaping his own. Three of the four creations they gave him to dominate submitted to his will. They were easy, but the last had given him troubles. At best they parted with a mutual respect to leave one another alone, but to his credit it was rare for any student to be able to dominate a Drayk. Those scaly-hide fire-breathing creations had a long reputation of being difficult to control even by the most experienced Shapers which was why they had been deemed forbidden to shape anymore. Thinking on it later Andras decided it probably would have been wiser to _ask_ the Drayk for cooperation being as it wasn't going to be forced, but it didn't matter now. If he had been one of the first and few students to succeed in that trial he would have increased his chances of becoming a Shaper. All he wanted was to show he was proficient in the tasks that were required of an Agent, a little chemistry, some control over creations, but nothing more.

Agent was the one rank that required a little knowledge of everything. The Shaper hopefuls dedicated themselves to books, and took joy in experimentations and writing notes, observing and following. All those things Andras found dull, but as an Agent he had to know a little about Shaper skills. Just enough to be able to mix a truth serum, sleeping draught, or even better yet, a potent and undetectable poison. His skills in chemistry were modest at best, but some of those things would come to him yet.

His mind kept drifting back to where he had felt the most alive, the Agent trials. Tanor, had boasted about his prize student to the delegates, so much so that it seemed they had gone to great lengths to make this last one a particularly challenging trial. But the harder it was, the more Andras enjoyed it. Tanor had taught him how to become a ghost, move through the wooded areas without detection, hide his scent from patrolling roamers. The enemy shouldn't know you're coming, Tanor would tell him, until he's dead on the floor. That was what a good Agent could do. That was what Andras vowed he would do.

It was night. Five of them stood ready for the command to begin. He saw Mila, a friend, standing just yards away. She looked over at him, her face fierce. Tonight their friendship didn't matter, tonight they were competitors racing for the same prize. He didn't let it bother him, he felt the same way. His eyes fixed on the dark woods ahead of him and he waited. Finally, the command was given. "Go!"

He darted into the trees the moment he heard the word, then proceeded to strip himself of excess weight. Anything he didn't need came off. His sword, his gloves, one of his belts, his tunic. All of it was shed in the interest of moving fast and quiet. What he kept with him, besides the few clothes he still wore, was his Agent's knife, a short broad-bladed dagger that had been given to him by his professor a couple years ago. Next came the mud. The black clayish muck was cold as he smeared it all over himself and it made his skin itch as it dried, but it masked his scent from the roamers that were certain to be nearby and the coldness helped hide him from the heat-sensing artillas that would be waiting in ambush. It was a little archaic, he admitted, but it worked.

His little stop would cost him some ground as he doubted his competitors would make for the same amendments, but what he lost he would easily make up. He pushed forward, not knowing any more than the rest in which direction the banner he had to retrieve was in, but there were clues. The closer he got, the more fierce the creations that guarded it would become. On the outskirts there were a handful of thahds, big dumb brutes that had poor eye sight and poor hearing. They were easy to avoid. Then came the fyoras- small fire breathing lizards whose sense of smell was just a bit better than a thahd. They were easy, too.

The first real challenge came when he stumbled across a pack of swamp roamers. They were enormous, muscle-bound beasts that kept their muzzles to the ground as they patrolled for the invaders they knew to be expecting. He hadn't noticed them until he was nearly on top of them, their hides blended in with the surrounding dark underbrush. He froze as one walked by him, holding his breath for fear of letting any hint of a scent escape. If it weren't for the mud he would have been caught for certain. Then it picked something up, a growl rumbled from its chest, and the pack darted in another direction. They found one of his peers. He heard the shouts of protests as the unfortunate student was bombarded by the angry beasts.

One down.

There was no time to feel pity, he still raced against three others that wanted that banner just as badly as he did. He continued on, more cautious now, certain he was heading in the right direction. Two more packs of patrolling roamers passed him by, both coming close but never aware he was there. Next there would be artillas. He knew to expect them, and the moment he heard the movement of bodies sliding over the earth he stopped. There was a pack of them, probably three or four, just around the corner. They had no sense of smell, but they could detect heat which made their aim as they spit mouthfuls of acid quite deadly at short range. Andras had no desire to test his luck walking across the path of those creatures. He scaled a tree, from which he could see the five giant worms huddled together waiting for an unsuspecting student to walk by them. He was safe up there. They couldn't reach him that high.

There would be more packs of artillas waiting for him so Andras used the trees as long as he could. He hopped from one to the next, pausing each time to be sure the rustling of the branches had not caught the attention of any creatures he couldn't see. So far, nothing. He found several more packs of worms, the last pack boasted eight. Nobody was meant to get past that one, but he did.

Then something more frightful caught his eyes, a patrol of Battle Alphas. The banner had to be close. He climbed down from the last tree quiet as he could, then huddled close to the trunk while one of the humanoid giants walked by. They were intimidating. Battle Alphas weren't very smart, but they were fast and quite strong. They had a sense of smell that rivaled a roamer's, and their eyesight was keen. Their giant frames stood half again as tall as Andras with more muscle on their arms than he had in his legs. Their mahogany colored skin helped them blend in to the night, and for as large as they were they moved with surprising agility and silence. There were variations of these creatures that were even worse, such as the Battle Betas and Battle Gammas, but the delegates would only use those if they wished to lose a few students along the way. For the sake of his friends, Andras was glad they hadn't.

He darted from one tree to another, hiding behind the trunk as one of the patrol passed him by. They were still oblivious to him. He would know the moment they detected them by the loud bellows they emitted and then _all_ the patrol would come to greet him. They wouldn't kill him, but he would limp for weeks if he met with them and his chances for Agent school would be just as injured. He kept his mind focused on finding the banner and avoiding detection. Soon, he found himself facing a clearing where a stake protruded from the ground with a flap of material hanging from it. There it was!

He was tempted to make a run for it, but the Battle Alphas were watching this area, too, and there was something else. He didn't notice it at first, but upon a second look he spied the form of a large blocky plant sitting not more than two yards away. It was as tall as the giants that guarded the area, and its large tendrils swayed back and forth lazily as it scanned for movement that didn't belong. Andras had seen turrets before, but rarely when they were set to target _him_ as this one was now. What worried him more was the realization of what kind of turret it was. He could handle the submission turrets, the burning turrets, and the small thorn turrets. He had been hit by all of them at one time or another and they were survivable, but miserable experiences. The one that he stared at now was a Reaper, the deadliest turret Shapers made. There was no stunning a student with that thing. A single hit could kill.

Curse that Tanor for boasting so loudly!

The only piece of knowledge he held about a turret that would help him now was that turrets could only see movement. So long as he didn't move it couldn't see him, but the banner was in the middle of a clearing that would require him to move at some point to retrieve it.

He dropped to his stomach and crawled across the ground as slow and steady as he could. A Battle Alpha walked by and he held his breath, but the big brute stepped right over him and continued on unawares. Andras pushed on with the painful pace, his eyes fixed on that banner ahead. So far the turret hadn't seen him, he moved too slow, but the closer he got the more certain a thorn from that monstrosity would strike him dead if it did see him. At last he reached the stake with the banner on it. His heart pounded, he barely breathed as he reached a hand up to grab it as slow as he could manage. Soon he felt the fabric in his fingertips, he pulled it down.

Too fast. He heard the crackling noise of thorns being loaded to fire and froze.

It took a moment to realize it wasn't him that the turret had spotted. Several yards away he saw the blonde hair of his friend, Mila, crouched in some bushes. She was watching the Battle Alphas, not the turret that should have been occupying her attention, but Andras didn't know how to tell her without giving himself away. She started forward, the turret tracked her movement, it was aiming. He pushed up and bolted to her, dropping the both of them to the ground. A thorn was fired. It grazed his leg, burning, but the majority of the poison was in the thorn that went sailing past them. He would live.

Mila didn't understand why he grabbed her at first, but her head turned and her eyes spied the big plant at last. She gasped, and he covered her mouth. They were both stuck, and it was only a matter of time before they were found. He was bleeding now, and the scent of blood, if nothing else, would lead the Battle Alphas right to them.

It didn't take long. The next Battle Alpha that walked nearby stopped and caught a scent that interested it. It walked into the clearing and the turret locked on, having difficulty determining friend from foe as the creature got closer. Andras could only hope that it would make a mistake, fire upon its own guard, and create a distraction long enough that he and Mila could away.

The Alpha stopped when it saw the two students lying on the ground, cocking its head for a moment as it tried to determine if it what it saw merited alarm. Then it lumbered towards them again, faster this time, and the turret took no chances. A thorn flew threw the air above the heads of Andras and Mila and tagged its target in the meat of its abdomen.

The beast bellowed out in pain and anger, and its giant fists swung at the assailing plant as it charged. More thorns fired, they were battling each other now. Andras grabbed Mila and yanked her to her feet, then ran for the first cover they could find. He wasn't going to stick around and see who won that fight, but it didn't matter. More Alphas were coming to aid their comrade. Everything near by knew they were there now. He just had to do his best to avoid them.

If he had been by himself Andras would have taken back to the trees to avoid those artillas he knew were waiting outside of the patrol zone, but Mila couldn't follow him. In fact, he wondered how she got through without such a trick in her repertoire, but it didn't matter now. They just ran.

Artillas spotted them and came out of hiding, hurling mouthfuls of potent acid but Andras and Mila were gone too fast to be hit. More came, and they missed as well, but not by much. The worms would follow them so Andras took to zigzagging to keep their aim off. Then came the packs of roamers. Andras and Mila ran from them, too. Those beasts had more speed, but didn't pursue as far. Then he passed fyoras, then the thahds. Finally they ran into the clearing they had started in.

The delegates and professors watched them return, looking impressed when Andras produced the banner. A couple other students were standing nearby, holding packs of herbs on wounded parts of their bodies. Their endeavor had not gone so well. The last returned a short time later, chased out by the same angry artillas that Andras and Mila had narrowly escaped. He would need some elixirs to help neutralize the acid and reverse the damage it left behind.

Tanor had been displeased that Andras made such a commotion on his return, but overall the mission had been a success and he received a nod of approval from each of the delegates. From there he was certain that he had proven himself Agent material. He couldn't imagine them choosing him for anything else. He had put so much effort into choreographing his performance at the trials to make himself look perfect for Agent work, but they had chosen him for Shaper. When he heard them say it as they called him up he knew there had been a mistake. How could he have been chosen for Shaper?

"Andras?" A voice brought him out of his daydream.

He wasn't sure if he had heard it at first, a faint female's voice from the other side of the heavy door. He opened his eyes and looked around, expecting to find that it was a figment of his imagination, and nothing more; but the lock on the door creaked back and it swung open with a painful groan. The light on the other side hurt his eyes, and he had to hold a hand up, but as he adjusted he could see a silhouette in the doorway. "Andras!" she exclaimed, rushing over to him, disregarding the foul odor of the cell. He couldn't see her face, or much else about her, but the sound of her voice and the hint of a sweet perfume let him know it was Lanira, his mother.

"You shouldn't be here," he told her.

"Nor should you," she replied. She coaxed him to his feet and led him out the door with her hand. He stopped just past the doorway, looking over at the guards to see if they would try to stop him. They looked ready to do so at any time, but they kept their distance. No doubt they had spent a little time with the one person who could bribe better than his father.

Lanira lead him to a room that would normally serve as quarters for the guards that watched the cell, but it was vacant at the moment. The room was lit with lamps on either side of the room. Two large cabinets stood on the back wall, full of supplies that a guard might need while on duty and kept tightly locked. There was a table with three chairs, and a half-finished mug of ale still sitting where its drinker had left it.

She gestured for him to take a seat, but he declined. He preferred to stand. Her face looked tired, as though she had been fighting back the tears all day and was beginning to wear from the effort. That was like her. She would take it upon herself to be the strong one for the rest of her family, forsaking her own sadness until she was alone when it would finally break through. She was trying to maintain her composure now, but Andras could see in her eyes that every moment she looked at him she was reminded of the son she didn't have anymore.

"I want to talk to you about your father," she began. "I know he has asked you to become a Shaper. He hopes that you will one day take his place…"

"I don't want to take his place," he cut in. "I don't want to be anything like him."

She raised a hand to quiet him, nodding that she understood. "With your… your brother… being gone…" Her voice was beginning to break up with the mention of Margus. She tried to recompose herself. "The burden of the family's legacy and honor now rests with you. You understand that, don't you?"

Andras shook his head. He thought he would find a more sympathetic ear with his mother, but it didn't sound that she had come to rescue him from his assignment as he had hoped. She was trying to talk him into accepting it, playing on the fact she knew that he could not refuse her.

"Andras?"

"I don't want to be a Shaper!" he roared. She shrank back, a little intimidated by his sudden show of anger. He turned away so he couldn't see her and regret what he just said.

"You know what he will do if you refuse."

"I don't care." Prison didn't intimidate him anymore.

"Andras! Now is not the time for your foolish stubbornness. Just accept… you must." She sounded desperate. It was not something he was used to hearing from her. She was strong, and defiant. He was so much like her. "I have already lost one son today," she whispered. "I cannot lose both."

"If I accept, I'm already lost." He _was_ already lost. Everything he was and strived to be would be forsaken so he could become the Shaper his father wanted him to be. He could fight it for awhile, but he was fighting the inevitable. He would be forced, Kristoff had his ways, and he would become what he hated most.

Lanira tried to offer him comfort by putting her arms around him, but he shied away. He kept his back to her, knowing if he saw the hurt that was sure to be on her face he would give in right then.

She set something on the table and slid it over to him. At first he didn't acknowledge the gift.

"It was your brother's. He would have wanted you to have it."

He turned and looked down and saw a book, but for a long time didn't dare touch it. Then his hand moved to it, slow and unsure, until his fingers touched the leather binding. He opened it, staring at the page before focusing on the words written there. It was Margus' journal from his years at Shaper school. As he flipped through it he could hear his brother's voice speaking in the back of his mind.

"Stop being so selfish," he would say. "Think of the family, think of our mother. Do what you know must be done."

That was Margus, the practical one. He would try to reason with his brother who didn't always understand reason. While it was often a futile effort, Andras had come to respect his brother's unending patience for him. That calm persistence, among other things, was why Margus was a good Shaper, and why Andras would not be.

"Do what you know must be done." Those words echoed in his head.

He closed the book with a quick flip of his hand. After a couple deep breaths that failed to relieve the tension in his gut he conceded. "Alright, Margus. You win."

He turned around to see his mother was standing a few paces behind him, waiting for his nod of acceptance. There was nothing he needed to say to her, it was molded on his face. She held her arms out for him, her expression relieved but still saddened. He accepted the invitation, finding that he was in much need of a warm and comforting embrace as she was. The façade of strength she had pasted on crumbled and she buried her face in his tunic and wept.

There he held her for a long while until she was able to calm herself once again. She pulled away from him, thanking him silently with a forced smile.

"The funeral will be in three days," she managed in a shaky voice as she wiped her eyes dry.

"They won't let me stay, will they?" Andras asked.

"I'll try," she promised. That was the best she could offer. The schedule they were bound to was a strict one, and weather often didn't forgive a day or two of delay, but if it could be done she would do it. "Now go, pack your things. Sleep if you can. There is much to be done tomorrow."

He stood for a moment longer, trying to gauge if she still needed him. It wasn't right for her to be left to grieve alone, and Kristoff was not going to offer her any comfort; he didn't know how. But she urged him on with her hands. "Go," she whispered. Still reluctant to leave, he gave her a quick nod, snatched up the tainted gift she had given him, then turned on his heel and departed.

The halls that lead to the room he shared with two other students were filled with classmates, and a few of their parents who had come to congratulate their sons or daughters. He ignored them all and plowed his way through the artificial greetings and congratulations, even the questions of where he had disappeared to, until he found the sanctuary of his empty room. Luke and Janner were still out. Good.

The plain bed on the opposite wall beckoned to him, and he was in no state to argue. He dropped himself on the end, tossing the journal down next to him, and burying his face in his hands.

Margus was dead.

He still had a hard time accepting the fact his brother wasn't going to be around anymore. Margus wouldn't be popping in every so often to see what Andras was up to. He wouldn't be giving his well-intended, but often ill-gotten, words of advice.

Andras picked up the journal and began thumbing through it, taking more time to look at the words and hand-drawn diagrams. There were maps of the Shaper territories, hand copied from other volumes. One map showed the route the ship that would take him to his new home. It was a long trip, for Andras' limited experience. Over two weeks at sea seemed long, but it was nothing in comparison to the month that his parents had spent when Kristoff brought Lanira back with him.

"Good evening, fellow Shaper!" Luke strutted in, startling Andras. He tossed the journal back on the bed, knowing it would draw attention and then he would have to answer questions he would rather not hear right now. He acknowledged his room-mate with a quick glance up, but was in no mood to share in his joy of being destined to the same school.

"Just think of it, Andras, how lucky we are to be following in our fathers' footsteps…"

"I'd rather not talk about it, Luke," Andras interjected. The last thing he wanted to hear was how "lucky" he was to be following in _his_ father's footsteps. He wanted to be _anything_ but like him. No, he wanted to be an Agent.

"Too overjoyed?" Luke asked, puzzled.

"Yes, that's it," Andras responded in an irritable tone, trying to say anything that would make Luke stop talking. He dropped to the ground, pulling a wooden trunk out from beneath his bed. He gathered the few belongings he had to take with him; a few pieces of clothes, student robes, a few toiletries, and his Agent's knife. Anything that he could find to busy himself and avoid Luke he did, but there wasn't much to do and soon he was left standing, hands on his hips, as he tried to think of anything else. The bed had been made, again. The furniture was dusted, and the cabinet was checked, and rechecked for anything that was his to take. Now what?

As he feared, Luke took his idleness as the cue to speak again.

"You know I'm the third generation of my family to become a Shaper." Andras could hear the sounds of Luke packing his gear on the opposite side of the room, but he kept his back turned. "And your family… well, Kristoff must be proud. Two sons to become Shapers. Simply unheard of!"

Andras couldn't keep his mouth shut. He spun around, feeling hot with anger again. "Do you really think this is what I wanted, Luke?"

"Isn't it what everyone wants?"

The notion was almost laughable. "No, it's not what everyone wants. Do you think I've spent every available moment for the last five years training with Tanor so I could spend the rest of my life bent over a book?"

Luke was quiet, for once. He could only blink, his face molded with confusion. Against his better judgment, Andras continued.

"I never wanted to be a Shaper. It's a curse, I don't want it. I'd give it up if I could." Just as he spoke those words he saw Janner appear through the doorway. He stopped, staring at Andras in disbelief. It was the wrong thing to say with him nearby. Janner's dream was to become a Shaper like his parents, but he performed terribly in the Shaper trials and ended up being placed as a Guardian where all able-bodied men went if they were suited for nothing else. Tanor often said so long as they could wield a sword and stand at attention they were good candidates for Guardians. For Andras to speak of his placement as Shaper in such a way would only add insult to the injury Janner now felt.

Luke shook his head, and his thin mouth turned to a frown. "I can't imagine what Margus would say if he heard you talk like that, Andras."

"He won't be saying anything. My brother's dead."

"Dead?" Luke and Janner exclaimed, almost in unison. Andras didn't mean to let that slip, but now that he had there would be explanations needed.

"The Battle Alpha?" Janner said, thinking aloud to himself more than anyone else around him. "I heard about a rogue Battle Alpha. This morning. It mauled a Shaper… that was your brother?" Andras nodded.

Janner dropped his stocky frame onto the middle bed, his bed, still keeping his eyes fixed on Andras. Both were quiet as though they couldn't come up with a word that was appropriate just then. "Sorry" just didn't say it.

Luke sighed, ran his hand through his sandy colored hair, and looked around uncomfortably. "Andras... I…"

"I just want to be left alone right now." Andras felt a little twinge of regret for sounding so abrupt, but Luke nodded in understanding. He exchanged a couple meaningless words with Janner and departed to find a livelier crowd where his enthusiasm would be shared. Amongst the thirty-six students that had come of age there were four others celebrating their impending trip to Shaper school. He would find one of them and Andras was glad to see him go.

"I can't believe that was your brother," Janner thought out loud again. Andras wished he would stop doing that.

"Yes, Janner. We both suffered losses today."

There was silence that followed, and it was welcomed. Andras resigned himself to bed, extinguishing the oil lamp that sat on the small night table next to him. The room was still bathed in a faint orange glow from the lamp between Luke and Janner's beds and Andras found himself staring at the faint lines of the stone ceiling above him. They reminded him of the maps in his brother's book that had been traced in his own wobbly hand; hands that would never draw another map or write another note again.

His eyes drifted back to the journal on the night table near the oil lamp. It was dark, still, and lifeless like the stone of the ceiling above him. The meaningless words written inside would serve as a constant reminder of the life full of promise that would never be realized. It was then, looking at the leather-bound book, that his loss became real.


	2. Chapter 2

Geneforge 1Martin 19

Chapter 2- The Awakening

The voyage at sea was delayed on Andras' behalf for three days so he could be present at his brother's funeral, but all other preparations took no such pause. There was much work to be done and it started before sunlight the next morning. There was the Awakening ceremony to go through and a last feast. The extra time in port would be spent preparing the boat for its large number of students that would be sailing on it this year. Between Andras' school and Delbin there would be nine, half again as many students the boat was designed for.

A shake on his shoulder woke Andras up before daylight had a chance to peek over the horizon. A short figure stood over him with a lamp held in its hand. His eyes squinted in the orange light, fighting to focus. It must have been a servile. It never spoke to him, just waited for him to show signs of waking, watching him with glistening beady eyes. Andras was tempted to ignore the creature and go back to bed, but the moment he turned over to sleep again he felt a shake on his shoulder once more.

"I'm up!" he groaned, dragging himself to an upright position. Luke was oozing out of his bed as well, holding his hand over his temple; a sign that it must have been a too good a celebration last night. The servile went outside the door to wait as they dressed.

"Why send a servile?" Luke asked in an irritable voice. Neither liked being told what to do by one of those creatures. It was undignified.

"No professor wants to be awake at this hour," Andras answered, not that he could blame them. Who did? Perhaps some Shapers did, but Agents did most of their work at night. There were better things to use mornings for, like sleeping.

Fully dressed he waited for Luke before exiting the room. Janner still slept in his bed, looking peaceful and comfortable. Andras envied him.

"Why shouldn't the Guardians have to get up early?" Luke growled. They followed the servile down the hall, turning left down another. They were lead down a winding maze, and Andras was thoroughly lost by the time they stopped at a door. The sky outside the window began to lighten. Any other day he would still be sleeping, warm in his bed for another hour or two at least.

The servile produced a key in its rough hands and unlocked the door, holding it open and standing aside to let them pass. They walked into a vast room void of life or light until their arrival, the oil lamp following behind.

"Don't we get breakfast?" Luke asked. The servile didn't answer. It tended to lighting light orbs located at regular intervals all around the room.

As more of the room was visible the two students took the opportunity to look around. Sparse furnishings littered around the outskirts of the room. There was an altar for meditations in the back and at each of the four corners there were ornate rugs for the same use. The most curious adornment was the large mark painted on the smooth floor in the center. Andras looked down, examining the lines below his feet. It was a circle inside a much larger circle with long curving branches stemming out from the center to the edges. The Mark of Life, the mark of the Shapers. He had seen this before on a medallion that hung around his brother's neck, and he had asked Margus about it. The center circle, the jewel, represented a single life. The larger circle represented all life, and the branches that extended out were to show that no single life existed without being connected to all other life. It was to remind Shapers that nothing they created, and nothing they destroyed was without consequences. It seemed to him it was a meaning that had been lost to Shapers long ago.

Minutes later the rest of the students appeared, also lead in by a silent servile who left after his charges had been deposited.

"Are you ready?" one of the students asked him. He recognized her, but couldn't recall her name. It had been years since he spent much time socializing amongst the Shaper hopefuls. He spent his spare time with those striving to become Guardians and Agents because they shared many of the same interests and weren't nearly so dull.

"For?"

"The Awakening," she answered. "All Shapers must go through it. It is to awaken the magic within us," she explained.

He rolled his eyes. "As I'll ever be," he replied. Margus had told him about this ceremony, but most of it he didn't pay much attention to. It was where the markings would be painted onto their skin. Every Shaper had them, channels they were called, denoting their symbolic purpose of channeling the energy of magic through their bodies. They weren't necessary, at least Andras doubted it since Agents and Guardians both could shape and do other magic without such adornments; but they were a long standing tradition and the mark of the Shaper. No one, from this day forward, would question who or what he was. The moment they saw the markings they would know, and the appropriate fear and respect would be paid.

He would also be rendered useless as an Agent. The moment the brush touched him his hopes of pursuing that dream were gone for good.

The murmuring in the room fell silent the moment one of the professors stepped inside. It was _____, the old alchemy professor. She stood in front of the altar, commanding the attention of all eyes in the room.

"Today you will be prepared for the journey that shall consume the rest of your lives. Whether you will shape creatures to improve upon creations we already have, or to make entirely new ones. You might populate new colonies, or protect what already exists. The work you do as Shapers will … (still working on what she will say here… something insightful I hope)" She motioned for someone in the back to come forth. Another Shaper, but not one that Andras knew. Probably one of the delegates from the Council. He gave a small speech, similar to the last, emphasizing their importance in society, then he ordered the ceremony to begin. They were to start by stripping down to their bare skin, waist up.

There was a fair amount of muttering in response. The women in the group protested, but there seemed to be no sympathy for their awkward position. All had to strip their clothes and stand top bare in the big room in the view of their peers and professors. It would, if nothing else, serve to humble them all. Andras kept his eyes forward and on the altar to respect his female peers, but from the corner of his eye he could see Luke snuck a peek.

"Luke!" he hissed under his breath, and the other snapped back to his rigid stance.

Professor _____ and the other Shapers ordered them into a formation, spread far enough to allow passage between the bodies that were to stand still. In their hands was a bucket with a cloth soaking in the fluid inside. It wasn't water. It was the wrong color and a strong odor dissipated from it.

"This is a fasting agent," one explained.

They started wiping the bare skin down with the cloths soaked in the agent. _____ started on Andras.

"Stand still!" she snapped.

Andras didn't know how to stand any more rigidly than he was, but he did his best to lock his body into place as his skin was coated with the acidic, foul smelling liquid. The moment it touched his skin it began to burn, like he had worked for hours in the sun on a hot summer day. It primed the surface, they said, so the markings that were to be painted on him would be permanent. He never saw a student Shaper right after their channels had been painted on, but he imagined they must have had blisters all over them by the end.

"Burns a bit, doesn't it?" Luke commented from nearby. Andras couldn't look over his shoulder to see if his roommate was undergoing the same treatment, but by the sounds of it he was.

Once that was finished the doors opened behind them and six frail figures were lead to their subject. These were the Seers. Andras found himself face to face with an old woman, a crone he preferred to call her. Her body was shriveled and wrinkled from years beyond what he believed possible for anything to live. Her hands shook, and the lips around her toothless mouth kept smacking together like she was about to eat or maybe speak. She was given a tray with a few brushes in a cup of ink. Where her eyes should have been were folds of wrinkled skin, not even a sign of an eyelid or a former eye that might once have resided there. The realization that he was about to be painted by a blind crone tempted him to make a run for the door. They wouldn't send him to Tayedikal unmarked, would they? He chanced a glance off to his left and saw that Luke's Seer looked no more capable of "seeing" than his did. It wasn't much consolation.

"Look at me," an old voice commanded him. He snapped his head to a forward facing position and saw the crone looked at him as though she could see him perfectly. She reached her hands out, touching his face with her papery fingertips. She seemed to be examining him, unbothered by the residue of the fasting agent that was still damp on his skin. Her brows furrowed, and on occasion she would say, "Hmmmm," as though she found something of interest. The hands traced over his exposed skin until she had thoroughly examined him and stood in front once again looking thoughtful.

"You are unusual," she told him as she reached for a brush, tapping the excess ink off before bringing it up to his chest. "Your energy originates here." He looked down to see what she meant, but she hissed at him a warning not to move again until he was finished. He recomposed himself and stood still, trying hard not to flinch as the cold bristles of the brush etched their path over his skin.

She started in the center of his chest, where she said his energy originated (whatever that meant), and worked her way out over his shoulders, down his arms. On the left arm the path stopped at the wrist, encircling it. Strength for battle, she told him, would flow through here. On the other arm the lines went all the way to his fingers where life would one day erupt from them, taking on whatever shape he chose. That was his spell-casting hand.

The brush turned its path to go up his neck and to his face. "Very determined," she mumbled to herself as she worked. "Strong sense of justice."

He would have liked to ask what she meant by that, but with her brush was tracing lines onto his face and he dared not move and risk any mistakes. He tried to tune his ears into the murmuring voices of the Seers around him. He caught lines like "Governed by intellect," and "true to your work," but nothing like what this woman said for him. In fact, she mentioned nothing of his intellect. He was beginning to wonder why.

"Because _you_ rarely listen to yours," she answered as though she listened to his thoughts. His eyes snapped open in surprise, but she thumped in the forehead with the handle of the brush. "Eyes closed!" He obeyed.

It tickled as she painted over his cheek and down his jaw line, and he wanted nothing more at that moment than to scratch at his face, but he knew better. He kept his hands held out, his head held straight, his back rigid. His balance wavered a little, but soon she was moving elsewhere, to his back, and he could open his eyes once again.

He was trying to picture what he looked like based on where he felt the strokes of the brush grow wider or thinner, but the task became so complicated that soon he resigned himself to a simple checked pattern forming squares from his forehead down to his waist. He knew that wasn't the case, but he had to stifle a chuckle when he envisioned himself painted that way.

"I am finished," she announced, then she stood back as if admired her work. "Don't move yet," she told Andras the moment he thought it was safe to try and relieve a sore muscle of the stiffness that was setting in.

Another servile appeared holding a well decorated silvery tray with a glowing bottle of blue liquid on top. All the students watched it with curious and suspicious eyes.

"Purified essence," the crone explained, taking the bottle into her frail hands. Purified essence was so rare and valuable that few Shapers would ever have the honor of seeing it again beyond this day. She removed the glass stopper, exposing the narrow cylinder that dipped inside and held a small drop of the treasure on the tip.

The purified essence glowed in its unearthly light as the shaky hands moved it closer to him. "To awaken the magic within you." A drop was placed on the center of his chest, the origin she called it, and the strange blue light was infused into the black channels that she had painted on him. The glow of the essence spread outwards over his shoulders, down his arms and back, up his neck and to his face. The sensation was strange and electrifying as the energy surged into his muscles. He felt infinitely strong, like there were no obstacles that could match his strength. He felt invincible.

The others around him glowed with the same light, but theirs ended after several seconds and they stood in their circles looking at him with wide eyes as his continued on much longer. The energy continued to build until he was nearly lifted from his feet. His heart pounded, his lungs had ceased to function. Something inside him was building, fighting to be released from the confines of his physical body. It was frightening, and the thrilling feeling he knew only moments before was giving away to terror. He fought to keep it contained fearing the results of failure would be explosive. He willed it to stop, hoping and begging in his mind the Seers, the professors or the students that watched would do something to help him. What was wrong with them? They just watched, mouths agape, eyes wide, but they did nothing. Please, stop!

In an instant, as though answering his silent pleas, the surging energy released him and his body dropped to the floor, his head hitting the ground hard.

* * * *

He didn't know if he had been out for seconds or minutes but when his eyes opened he saw a circle of people standing over him, furrowed brows and concerned faces watching him intensely. The moment they saw him stirring he was bombarded by questions, too numerous to understand a single one until one of the professors broke up the spectators and knelt down beside him.

"Are you alright?" she asked. He nodded, holding his temple. A troop of Battle Alphas were stomping around inside his head, something they were welcome to stop at any time.

"You gave us quite the scare," Luke commented, reaching his hand out and pulling Andras up to his feet. For a moment he wavered, his balance nearly succumbing to the throbbing that intensified as he stood up.

"Tell me that's supposed to happen."

Luke shook his head. "No, friend, it's not." That was probably as solemn and serious he had ever heard Luke sound and it did little to make him feel better.

"Let me through!" he heard an old voice push her way through the students who still stood and stared at him. It was his Seer, and she hurried over to him, guided by a servile that held her wrist until she stood in front of him. "A taste for excitement, have we?" She reached out and touched her hands on his face again in the same manner as the first time she examined him. Then both her hands went to the center of his chest where she left them for a time, acting as though she were listening for something. Once satisfied she withdrew her hands.

"Well?" he asked impatiently.

"You're fine now," the crone answered, but that wasn't what anyone standing there wanted to know. Everyone could see he was fine _now_, at least it seemed a safe assumption when he was alert and standing. He wanted to know what happened earlier, but she offered no answers that were helpful.

He looked around noticing he was still being watched by his classmates. Everyone else was dressed again with their student robes pulled over their shoulders. The girl he spoke to earlier handed him a crumpled bundle that was his clothes.

"How do you feel?" she asked. He shrugged, pulling his black tunic on.

"Felt better but I'll live." Next came the brown leather belt which he had to straighten the dagger that was tied to it. Last was his red student robe, one that he would soon be trading in for Shaper robes. The material was well worn, belonging to him was a hard existence, and the hand-stitched black embroidery his mother worked so hard on was all but gone. He brushed off the dust, knowing it wouldn't make it look any better. When he looked again, the girl was still standing there. Like everyone else she seemed intent on watching him, perhaps expecting him to keel over or pass out again. He regretted to disappoint them.

"Does it hurt?" She gestured towards his head. His fingers touched the sore spot on his temple, coming back with a small bit of blood. "If it does try eating this," she handed him a twisted piece of a black root, about the length of her thumb. He took it with some hesitation.

"What is it?"

"Root of wiry moss. It has wonderful healing properties. I always carry it with me."

He thanked her, though not with much enthusiasm. He didn't appreciate the tone of voice that seemed to talk down to him, though it was something that might have been taught in class (and all the Shaper hopefuls would know it) but he didn't pay much attention to those things then. Now he felt a little ignorant, but he did as she instructed the moment she walked away. Anything to be rid of the throbbing in his head.

It tasted awful, and he gagged on the bitter flavor more than once but before he had chewed it enough to swallow the pain in his head subsided. For what it was worth, it worked.

A half hour later he was sitting outside the office of Professor ________ while she spoke with delegates from the Council about the strange happening during the Awakening ceremony. He expected any time to be called in for questions, but still he waited in a chair he doubted would hold his weight up much longer. He slouched down, hands folded over his stomach and legs stretched out into the walkway as he dozed off. On occasion someone would walk by him, his eyes would open, but he wouldn't move his feet. Let them step over him, he was too tired to care.

The professor had healed the small wound on his temple once the delegates looked him over and all evidence of what happened was now gone. Other than wanting to recapture the sleep he lost earlier that morning, or perhaps fill his empty stomach, he felt fine. There would still be fuss over it. His mother hadn't been told yet, and someone was on their way to inform his father; not that Kristoff would clear his busy schedule long enough to care.

More time went by, and the chair was growing more uncomfortable. Now Andras hoped it would break beneath him so he had an excuse to go somewhere else while he waited. Someone else came by, but instead of passing she stopped at the office door in front of him and knocked. The murmur of voices paused, the door opened to admit the newcomer. It took only a minute, perhaps two, before the person came out again. She stopped, noticing Andras for the first time, but then hurried on without a word.

Now he was curious.

He sat up in his uncomfortable seat, drew his legs in, and craned his neck to hear a little better. It was all just murmurings where he sat.

If all this fuss was over him why wasn't he privileged enough to hear it? He wondered this often as he sat there, feeling alienated from his own life. They were all talking about him, what happened to him, trying to determine what to make of it. Messengers came and went, all carrying messages pertaining to him but all he could do was wonder what they might contain. The girl that had left several minutes before returned, glancing over at him again, but headed straight for the door where she was admitted soon after.

He sighed. Maybe if he just assaulted one, a harmless little trip of the feet and an arm held behind the back, he would find out what they were saying about him in there. He wouldn't do that, of course, but the idea tempted him more than once.

The door opened again, but this time no messenger scurried out. The professor stood in the doorway, holding it open for him. "You can come in now," she offered with a gesture of her hand. He obeyed in haste, happy to leave that awful chair.

"We've spoken to anyone who might help us," she began. "And no one can answer what happened to you. We do not know if it will happen again, if it is a good omen or bad."

He listened quietly. All this waiting to find out they knew just as much as he did, nothing?

"We do not know what implications there may be for sending you to the College and so the Council has decided that it is for your parents to decide whether or not you shall continue your training."

Terrific.

"Kristoff wishes to speak with you now. Do you have any questions before you leave?"

He shook his head. It was made very apparent that whatever questions he might have they didn't know the answers to anyway. _________ dismissed him after that, giving him a brief description of where he would find his father waiting to speak with him.

When he reached the room he was told he would find his father he could hear his parents talking. He stopped just before the door, listening to what was being said. It was about him.

"The professors don't know what happened. I just know what they tell me, and what he told me. ___________ thinks it might be that his body was trying to reject the magic." Lanira sounded worried, but Kristoff harbored no detectable concerns. That was like him.

"It doesn't matter, he still must go."

"Does it not matter to you that this could have killed him? Shouldn't we wait until they find out exactly what happened before sending him off?"

"Did he put you up to this?"

Andras smiled to himself. No, he didn't, but he appreciated it.

She ignored the question, but her distaste was evident in her voice. "In two more days I will have buried a second child and I'm in no hurry to lose the third."

"Shaper life is not without its risks, Lanira. Neither is that of an Agent."

"He is _not_ one of your creations. Lest you forget he is our son, the last we have. He's not expendable!" Andras rarely heard his mother raise her voice to anyone, much less Kristoff, and the disobedience didn't go unnoticed. Her remark was followed by a sharp reprimand, and a slapping sound that he knew to be a hand against her cheek.

He rounded the corner in a hurry to see his father's hand poised for a second strike if Lanira didn't succumb after the first. His temper flared immediately. Cheeks grew hot, jaw tensed, fists clenched.

"Do it again and join my brother at his funeral!" His mother's eyes sent him a glaring look of warning which he ignored.

"Don't you threaten me," Kristoff growled, lowering his hand. Conflicts between Andras and his father were often short-lived because he knew enough about Kristoff's abilities to respect them (and avoid experiencing them first hand) but no threat of painful spells would keep him at bay this time. "I'm warning you, stand down."

He stepped forward, defiantly planting himself just over arm's reach away with a thin table acting as a poor barricade between them. His father's rage almost glowed from his ired gray eyes, the thin limbs beneath the heavy robes appeared to tremble. Anger, just like Andras, he shook when he was angry.

"Andras…" Lanira's worried voice was distant to his ears, barely audible. He refused to acknowledge her.

"Boy, you should know better than to challenge a Shaper. Not even the best Agent would dare…"

Yes, but no thanks to _him_ Andras was not going to be an Agent. His resentment compounded. He never hated Kristoff more than he did at that moment.

His hand slipped down to his belt and drew the Agent's knife from its sheath, but he never brought it any further than raised in front of him, poised to strike before his body was halted mid-motion. He was paralyzed, but he still fought to push himself past the hold of the spell and to run the steel blade into the heaving chest. Kristoff muttered something else, something unintelligible, and pain ripped through his body as though his skin were being torn off while he lived. His eyes couldn't so much as squeeze shut, his face couldn't grimace in pain. He tried to cry out, it burned everywhere, but nothing came. Kristoff waved his hand once more, Andras' body lurched forward as the spell released him and he fell to the floor, the knife skidding away, and screamed.

"What have you done?" His mother shouted.

"Nothing he didn't deserve. He'll be fine." Kristoff walked over to where his son's body still hunched on the floor. "You need to be fitted for your robes." He stepped over Andras' legs and walked out.

Lanira waited until they were alone before she came to Andras' rescue, helping him to his feet. His body was still shaky and weak, and the throbbing in his head returned.

"What were you trying to prove? I don't need you rescuing me!" she scolded.

"He doesn't treat you well," he whispered, easing himself into a chair. His strength was returning already, but it would be awhile before he felt normal again.

"It's the only way he knows," she defended.

"I think he needs to be reminded that _you_ are not one of his creations either." The fingers of one hand traced over the ridges of the knuckles of his other. For a moment he imagined how pleasant it would feel to hammer those knuckles somewhere, anywhere, against his father's body. "I'd be happy to administer such a lesson," he offered, no humor intended. This last attempt had done little to speak for his skills, but if he could land one solid hit by surprise then just maybe…

"Andras!" She probably knew he would do it, too, all she would need to do is nod her head or ask. In fact, if she even so much as hinted it he would, and he liked to imagine it was only the fear of what consequences he would suffer afterwards that kept her from capitalizing on his willingness. She couldn't possibly love that monster, could she?

"So is that all you wanted from me?" he asked.

"She's here," she stated as though he was supposed to know who "she" was. He responded with a blank stare.

"Who?"

"Carnelian. She's here."

He was quiet. What did that mean? Carnelian was here, after two years he would get to see her again. The thought brightened him up a little, but there seemed to be more to it than what his mother was offering. He watched her, waited for more, but she excused herself and left him to his thoughts.

He lifted himself out of the chair, ignoring his shakiness, and walked out. It was time to go look for her, for Carnelian. He was in need of something to look forward to, and to take his mind off his returning headache, and she was the perfect distraction.

The reception hall was filled with people. Students from Delbin, another middle-training school three days north of this one, had arrived dressed in blue to separate them from the wine colored robes that the native students here wore. They were to sail on the same boat to Tayedikal College and had arrived expecting to set off this evening. Professors and delegates were present to inform them of a delay, and parents were offered temporary quarters so they could remain long enough to watch their children depart. A large crowd for three additional students, but this was where he found her.

He watched her from his spot in the rear of the room. She was talking with a professor, her parents standing nearby, oblivious to his presence. It afforded him a moment to admire her from his distance, and absorb the reality that she was back. Long auburn hair draped down to her waist, and her fair skin was adorned with the markings of a Shaper; long, thin, curving lines almost like the vines of a plant. They were nothing like his, but they suited her. She loved plants. It was a surprise to see that she was dressed in blue Shaper robes since he thought she had been taken out of school two years ago. Somehow she was able to finish training at Delbin, and now she was one of the students that would be sharing the boat to Tayedikal.

Her eyes chanced a moment to examine her surroundings, a place that should have been all too familiar to her, and they drifted over and found him. Her face lit up with a large smile. "Andras!" She excused herself from her parents, and rushed over to greet him. It was a cautious greeting, knowing they were watched by scrutinous eyes, but even a quick hug felt good.

"Look at you! You look… " Her eyes glanced over him from bottom to top, and the rosy hue in her cheeks deepened. "Different."

He couldn't help but smile upon seeing her obvious embarrassment. She hadn't changed much since he last seen her, except for her Shaper markings, but the last two years of relentless training with Tanor had blessed his tall frame with a strong, athletic build. He had long outgrown his teenage lankiness. Muscle tone had filled in his gangly limbs years earlier, but he had done well to reinforce it and the blush in her cheeks told him it was noticeable.

"Do I thank you for that?"

"I don't mean it to sound like a bad thing," she replied in a hasty tone. "Shaper?" She took note of the markings on his face, the only ones visible at the moment. "I thought you were training with Tanor for Agent?"

"I was, but things… changed."

"How wonderful, I mean, I hope it is." She smiled proudly on his behalf. He smiled back and nodded, not wanting to explain the tragic circumstances that lead him here just yet.

For a moment things were looking up. He didn't want to go to Shaper school, and be forced into the books he did his best to avoid for the last ten years, but she would be there. He imagined the two of them working next to each other, perhaps stealing chance opportunities to be alone, all the things they did together here before their forced separation; but his hopes of reviving their hindered romance came to a brutal halt when an older man, in his forties perhaps, walked up to the pair and took Carnelian's hand in his. It was then he also noticed her ring.

She seemed a little uneasy, sensing the immediate tension that formed between the two men, but she smiled and introduced them anyway. "Andras, this is my fiancé, Tuldaric," she gestured to the older man. "Tuldaric, a dear friend of mine, Andras." Demoted to friend. He tried to force a polite smile on his face as he shook Tuldaric's hand, but the effort was painful and short-lived.

He began searching for something to say that would fill the awkward void between them, or at least give him a quick out, but she spoke first.

"I'm told we're being delayed for three days. Do you know why?"

"A funeral," he answered. Her eyebrows raised to show a slight interest, but overall she was rather unconcerned.

"Oh? Whose?"

"Margus."

"Margus?" she repeated and he nodded. "Andras, if this is a joke it's not funny." His reputation as a childhood prankster preceded him, but no, it was no joke this time.

"He was killed yesterday," he started to explain. "A rogue Battle Alpha."

She searched his eyes for authenticity, then her face changed and she gasped. "Oh, Andras! I'm so sorry." She wanted to hug him, at least it appeared as though she did, but she looked over at the man standing next to her and it kept her from moving.

He nodded to show his appreciation for her condolences. "Please, excuse me." He acknowledged them both then made a hasty exit, anxious to put that reception hall behind him so he could erase what he had just seen from his mind. Twenty paces was all the further he made it once he turned the corner before he had to lean against the wall to catch himself. He took in a couple deep breaths trying to calm his shaky muscles.

"I wasn't ready for that."

"Ready for what?" She had followed him.

He turned to her, seeing she was alone. "Friend?"

"What was I supposed to say? Oh, here's the man I almost gave myself to a couple years ago, which is the reason I had to go to Delbin?"

"Is that all I am to you?"

"It's all I can allow you to be."

"You can dismiss me that easily?"

"I didn't say it was easy. We had fun, Andras, we did, but what we had could not have lasted and you and I both know that."

He shook his head. "No, I don't."

"We are adults now-"

"We weren't adults two years ago?" he jumped in.

She was frustrated. Any moment she would give up this conversation and leave him alone to his ire, that's what she did when he cornered her, but still she tried to continue. "Now we're going to begin our real training, to become what we will be for the rest of our lives. There's no more room for fun and games. As soon as my preliminary training is over I'll be doing my apprenticeship with Tuldaric."

"How sweet." He would make no apologies for being bitter.

"Stop it." Her hands went to her hips, and she waited to see if he would toss in any other spiteful remarks before she continued. "I think it's quite nice he's wanting to share his research with me." Try as she might to make the situation sound ideal it wasn't working, not in his ears.

"If all he wanted was a research partner he could have hired one from anywhere!"

She sighed, and her hands fell limp at her sides. "Andras, you know how Shapers are about their work."

"Yes, I do. I know it all too well, which is why I can't see you being happy with him." For a moment he was certain he had her. She couldn't respond, she was looking for it but nothing was coming to her yet; but then she found one more thing to say and he wasn't the least bit prepared for it.

"Do you really think I would be any happier with _you_?" She made her exit right then, retreating back to the hall her fiancé waited in, and he was incapable of trying to stop her. He watched her billowing blue robes disappear around the corner as he tried to think of something to hurl at her. Nothing came, and the defeat wasn't accepted for several minutes while he stood and stared at the stones shaping that corner, hoping that she might reappear to apologize.

She never did.

Fiancé? And she seemed so happy about it. He couldn't believe she was able to forget him that quickly. He had not been able to forget her, try as he might she still plagued his thoughts whenever he had a spare moment which was why, for the last two years, he did his best to be certain he never had one.

If it had come at any other time he might have been able to bury himself in his training, or do a few laps around the compound to deaden the sting, but he had no such escapes to look to now and he was already struggling to cope with so much. His brother's death was becoming less and less the forefront of his distress, but he had yet to fully accept it. He expected Margus to show up, sit down next to him and try to lift his spirits. "It's for the best," he would say every time something went awry though it never helped. In the back of his mind he heard those words sounding out again, as though Margus was still offering his futile words of advice, and it maddened him even further.

"It's not for the best!" he hissed. None of it was.

Time for a walk. Time to get out of the stale air inside the school and clear his senses outside. His pace was hurried, his movements abrupt. The few that did cross his path were quick to move out of his way, a wise decision on their part. His angry stride took him to the far eastern corner of the school grounds where several old cottages now sat abandoned. Old servant quarters, a place where he would retreat to often when he was out of sorts.

And he was certainly out of sorts now.

He whirled around and punched the closest thing to him, a window boarded up with wooden planks to cover a disintegrating pane of glass behind it. In his mind he saw Tuldaric, Kristoff, and others. All the faces that had robbed him of so much in the last couple of days were painted on that window. The wood and broken glass splintered with the impact, and it felt as though a couple bones in the back of his hand did the same. A sound of pain came up from his chest and he dropped to his knees, trying to shake the agony from his injured hand. Blood ran from his knuckles, and his muscles trembled from…Anger? Pain? Could have been both.

He slid down to a seat against the wall as he held his wrist with a tight grip. Perhaps that would block the deep stinging sensation that emanated from the back of his hand. It had been a foolish thing to do, and he knew that looking back on it, but in a strange way it helped. He could handle the external pain. He could grit his teeth, wince or grimace to help him cope. It was the pain he felt inside, centered in his gut, that he couldn't handle and for a short while his mind concentrated on something else.

It had been his hope to remain alone where he sat. There was no one he wished to talk to just then, but he heard his name followed by approaching footsteps crunching over dried leaves. His mother found him, she seemed to have a knack for that, and a slight twinge of dread hit him. He would have to explain his hand to her.

"There you are," she declared as she rounded the corner. "Margus told me I might find you here." He was confused by her comment but for the moment didn't ask her to explain. Her answers were often just as confusing as the questions she raised, and he was in a poor mood for solving riddles.

Just as he feared it took her no time to spot the scarlet trails of blood streaming from his knuckles. She dropped down to her knees on the dirt next to him, taking no care for the fine expensive fabrics that made her dress. He tried to keep his hand away from her, but she took it anyway, examining the damage for herself. He expected her to ask him what he had done, or why, but her eyes seemed to know the answers already. She asked neither question.

"This is not going to help," she began, releasing him. The expression on her face showed her disapproval, but her voice remained calm as she spoke again. "What are you hoping to prove?"

He was ignoring her question. "Why did you tell me? Why did you tell me she was here?"

"You needed to see the truth," she answered. "And it was bound to show itself to you eventually."

"The truth?" He clenched his jaw again as he shifted, trying but failing to keep his hand from being jostled by the move. "That she's engaged to marry another man? Why did I need to see that?"

"Would it have changed anything if you hadn't?"

No, of course not, but that wasn't the point was it? It was too much to keep a handle on. If all he had to make peace with was Carnelian's engagement he might have been able to force it, or even pretend long enough until he believed it, but with everything else that happened in the last two days he was buckling beneath the weight.

"Life has taken everything that mattered away from me. I have nothing left."

"Everything?"

"What do I have? Margus is dead, as is my dream of becoming an Agent. You've taken Father's side, and now I've lost Carnelian as well."

"Was she not lost to you two years ago?"

He wanted to rebut that remark, but he couldn't. He had nothing to stand on. For all he knew when she left he would never see her again. It was only by chance that she had continued school at Delbin and was one of the Shaper students sharing the boat that would take them to the Tayedikal College. He would like to think it was all a sign that she _was_ meant to be his, but so long as she had that gold ring on her right hand it could never be.

"Even if that were true," which he wouldn't admit that it was. "What else do I have to lose?"

"Your own life," she answered quickly.

"I would welcome that right now." In fact, he was inviting his demise, whatever form it chose to take, to come find him that very moment. It would rescue him from his mother's disapproval, if nothing else.

"You shouldn't talk like that," she warned. He shrugged, pretending not to care, shifting his eyes to a distant poplar so he could escape her scolding stare. "I'll fix this once, but do it again and you'll have the pleasure of explaining to your professors how it happened. Or…" she paused to think. "I'll have Tuldaric fix it for you."

He didn't find that remark amusing, but she ignored the glare he gave her. She held his damaged hand, covering the bloody knuckles with one of her hands. He wasn't certain what she meant by "fixing" his hand, but he assumed it would involved bandaging it up and having someone who wouldn't ask questions heal it. Instead, she spoke a few words in her native tongue, none of which he understood, and then a warmth radiated into the back of his hand. In a moment it was gone and it took his pain with it.

He pulled his hand from her, moving it and examining it. Other than the partially dried blood that coated it he could see or feel no injury at all.

"How…?"

"There are things about me your father has never known, and I want it to stay that way." She smiled, then leaned over and kissed his forehead. "I have always been on your side. Never forget that." She stood up, brushed her dress off. "The feast begins soon. I would like for you to join us." He didn't budge. "A good meal might be just what you're needing right now." She waited a moment longer for him to move. "Oh, there _is_ someone I think you should speak with. Tonight, perhaps, after the banquet."

Andras cocked his head to one side. "Who?"

"Come with me and you'll see."


	3. Chapter 3

Geneforge 1Martin 22

Chapter 3-Farewell

Throughout the banquet Andras thought about who it was that might want to speak to him. Carnelian kept her distance, sitting at the opposite end of the table with Tuldaric by her side. She rarely looked his way, and never spoke to him. His father passed him the occasional glare, but otherwise did well to ignore him. Tanor conversed cheerfully with anyone who sat close to him, laughing louder as he consumed more ale. Long after everyone had consumed their share of food they all sat around, talking, laughing, reminiscing with each other. Andras was the only one that kept quiet. He watched as an outsider, a stranger to this crowd, feeling no more welcome here than his mother must have felt the first several years she lived in a Shaper city.

He did not dwell on those feelings for long. His attention often came back to Carnelian, who still seemed oblivious to him, and the man next to her. He seethed every time he saw Tuldaric and the only comfort he found was planning the man's demise. It was nothing he would act upon, of course, but it had its therapeutic value.

His mother had tried several times to redirect his energy on something more positive before she finally announced he was too set on being angry for her to be able to help him. That was true, but Andras would defend with a hint of humor in his voice at least he had someone to despise besides his father. She shook her head, looking disappointed, but left it at that.

At last the crowd began to break up, and people started excusing themselves to go back and sleep off the over-stuffed feeling in their bellies. Andras hadn't eaten more than a few bites and so his stomach still ached with hunger as he trod off to his dorm room where he hoped to find some welcome solitude. It was proving to be one of the few safe spots in the school that he didn't have to see a face that bothered him. If it wasn't Tuldaric or Carnelian it was Kristoff, Tanor, or a Council delegate. The school was teaming with people who had done wrong by him and though he was sometimes burdened to listen to Luke (Janner already left) while in his room it was far more bearable than seeing those other people. His roommate had wizened up to topics that weren't welcomed and kept his conversations superficial and free of any mention of Shaper school. He was grateful for that.

When he arrived he was surprised to find a folded bit of parchment waiting for him on his bed. No address and no from written on it, but he picked it up and opened it. A very short and precise sentence was scrawled across the page. "Meet in the herb garden."

Was this the person his mother mentioned? His first and most optimistic guess was that it came from Carnelian. The herb garden was her favorite place, and they had shared many intimate moments there a couple years back. But she wasn't the only one who knew that, nor the only one who might try to lure him out. He doubted it to be a professor. Tanor never left notes, and no others seemed to have reason to see him. Of course, he couldn't rule out the possibility this might be a cruel joke. Most of his old friends were already on their way to a new school so the names that came to mind of those who might want to pull a prank on him were excused, even Mila was gone, but others still here might have plans for taking advantage of his weakened state.

The possibilities were almost endless, but he kept going back to Carnelian. It could be her, he hoped it was, and he would go on the off chance she did show up. It was worth the risk.

He hurried downstairs, through a couple long hallways, and out the eastern wing where a door lead directly to the herb garden. It was immense. No small herbs in hand-made clay pots here. There were trees, bushes, and long strips of plants that were at least a foot tall if not taller. Some were more fastidious than others, requiring very precise locations and particular neighbors. Carnelian knew which they were, but he didn't pay that much attention. He walked a path that lead to a small clearance where a bench made of aging gray wood sat off to the side. There he sat and waited, his stomach a little tense, as the sun dipped close to the horizon.

The oncoming night began to blow in on cool breezes. Shadows lengthened. Still no one came, and he began to question if anyone would. Elbows leaned on his knees, his eyes stared at his folded hands. Maybe it was just a joke. Maybe someone wanted to see if he would come, like a fool, and wait for a person who would never show.

But no. The rustling sounds of footsteps over grass reached his ears and gave him the reassurance he needed. He was not a fool, someone was coming. He stood up to greet the cloaked figure as it walked into the clearing.

"It was hard to come alone," she explained as she lowered her hood. It was Carnelian, and excitement surged through him. Yes, she came. He didn't know why they were there, but he was glad it was her though the look on her face told him perhaps he shouldn't be. "I didn't know if you would come."

"Of course I would, but I must ask… why are we here?"

"I need to speak with you."

"What about?" He wasn't so sure he wanted to know.

"Let's walk." He followed her as she took to the narrow path that wound through the expanse of the herb garden. It was a slow and lazy pace which would have given him time to appreciate the beauty of this place had he cared to look.

"I spoke with your mother," she began, brushing her fingers over the soft leaves of a frosted green plant. "I understand now the circumstances which have brought you here, why you must become a Shaper. These last couple of days have not been kind to you, and for that I'm sorry." He was quiet and she continued. "Now I want you to understand _my_ circumstances, and know most of it was my choosing as much as yours was." Her hand reached for his, touching his fingers, but then she withdrew, thinking better of it. Old habits had a way of resurfacing.

"When I came I didn't expect to see you again, and even if I did it would have been for just a moment, not long enough that you would ever need to know about my engagement to Tuldaric. I never meant for you to know."

"Is this supposed to comfort me?" he asked, finding the subject matter caused his muscles to tense and his stomach to feel heavy.

She sighed, but ignored the question. "I was expelled from the school for what we did or… almost did. They sent me home two days later. My parents were furious. They said I proved myself unworthy of any further expense for my education, but I believe my father still looked to get something for all the expense and trouble of putting me in school. He offered me as a wife to any established Shaper who would have me. There were a few who answered the call, but Tuldaric was the only one who took a genuine interest. After being told what happened with you, or what my parents _think_ happened, most didn't want me."

He suppressed his distasteful comments about any man who could find her undesirable. "So he knows?"

She nodded. "Yes, my parents told him. And what they didn't tell him I did."

So he knew everything. That wasn't very comforting.

"He asked me if I still wanted to become a Shaper, and of course I did, so he agreed that if I would be faithful to him he would pay for me to finish middle-training at Delbin. He is also sponsoring my stay at Tayedikal." They stopped by a row of plants boasting large white blossoms with whisker-like projections spouting out from the base of each bunch. She looked down at her hands a moment, twisted the gold ring on her right finger, then looked at him again. "How many Shapers would ever indulge their wife like that? How many other men would have let me finish my training, and become a Shaper myself? Do you see why I am fortunate to have him?"

She had a point, but he didn't want to acknowledge that.

"Do you regret it?" he asked. Her head tilted to the side and her brow furrowed. She didn't know what he was asking. "Do you regret… what we did?"

"No." She hesitated a moment. "But I think in some ways our separation was for the best." Turning to the plant they stood before, her hands enclosed one of the large bunches of white flowers and plucked it from the stem, cradling the blooms in her fingers.

"You sound like Margus," he growled. His brother had said the same thing after Andras returned from his three day visit to the Cell and found Carnelian gone. "It's for the best," he had said. To question that wisdom Andras exposed his back, which was battered from the brutal lashings he received, for his brother to see. "Is _this_ for the best, Margus?" He didn't know what it looked like but his brother's frightened gasp and refusal to look any longer suggested it must have been gruesome. It felt gruesome. The scars were still there, though time had faded them a bit, he thought about showing them to her. Would her reaction be the same?

"Well, Andras, think of all the things that could have happened and didn't. We were lucky, and I would hate to press that luck any further. And if I were caught again-"

"Luck?" he interrupted her, hands resting on his hips. "My brother sold me out. That had nothing to do with luck."

She shook her head as she plucked one of the flowers from the bunch and held it between her forefinger and thumb.

"So why tell me this? If you want me to be happy for you, that you found this wonderful man, Tuldaric, I can't do that. I can't say you're fortunate to be forced into marriage with a man you don't love."

"You think it's me you're looking out for but it's not."

"Do you love him?"

She was trying to avoid answering that question, and her eyes were just as determined not to look at him. He repeated the question. "No!" she snapped. He sat back, feeling confident he made his point.

"Here, take this." She held the blossom out for him to take. He looked at it a moment, backing away from it as though it were plague itself.

"I don't want it."

"It won't harm you. It will—"

"I know what it does. I don't want it." It was one of the few herbs in this garden he _did_ know. It was used in many different remedies in varying potencies, often for its potent pain relieving properties for ailments that couldn't be healed. Alone, however, its main use was to work on the mind, to numb it so one didn't care, a popular remedy for those who had just lost a dear family member but he doubted that was why she offered it to him now.

"Andras, take it please." She held it out closer to him, and he took another step back.

"You can't buy me off with a plant," he warned.

She tossed it down in disgust. "That's not what I'm trying to…I'm just trying to…" Another sigh. "Look, I asked you to come here tonight so I could help you understand why things have to be this way. Don't think I have forgotten who you were to me, and still are, but please know that no matter what we feel for each other we can never be more than friends again." Her back turned to him as she discarded the rest of the plant. "Please tell me that we can be that much. I want us to be."

A long silence fell between them. Just agree, he told himself, but he couldn't. Where was Margus now to tell him what he should do, or what he should say? The one time he needed the advice no one was there to give it to him.

"That's it, then?" Her voice was weak as she turned back to face him. She reached under the neckline of her dress and pulled a silver necklace with a round medallion out. It was a disc with an ancient Shaper rune that meant "loyalty" engraved on it. His grandfather gave it to him when he started middle-training to remind him of the Shaper's most valuable trait. A few years later he gave it to her, and by the worn look of it she wore it as dutifully as he had. "You should take this back." She removed it from around her neck and held it out for him to take, but he refused to budge.

"It's not mine."

Shiny wet streaks formed on her cheeks, and she spoke just above a whisper. "If you cannot be so much as a friend, then yes it is. The man who gave me this cared more for me than that."

He took it. Not because he admitted she was right, but because he knew there was nothing else to say. She waited a moment longer, then turned and walked back toward the complex. He wanted to stop her, but his limbs remained fixed in place. He watched her walk away as she bowed her head in her hands, letting quiet sobs escape. Stop her, he ordered himself again. But she was beyond the reaches of his eyes, and soon after the reaches of his ears.

His hand still clutched at the medallion she left with him, but the cold metal felt like poison against his skin. He walked over to the edge of the small clearing, staring into the black silhouettes of large trees stretching out before him, and threw the medallion into the blackness as hard as he could. A musical chime sounded from a distance as it collided with the solid mass of a tree trunk then fell to the grassy earth below. He didn't know where it landed, and he didn't care. Once it was out of his hand his mind was free to pretend this conversation never happened.

Carnelian walked in silence back inside the school and wound her way through dark halls before finding the temporary quarters she shared with Tuldaric and her parents. A light filtered from beneath the door. Someone was still awake, but she hoped her parents had already retreated to their own bedroom for the night. She did not want to construct any lies tonight about where she had been. Once inside she was pleased to see only her fiancé awake, mulling over research notes as usual.

"Did you talk with him?" Tuldaric asked from his seat next to a small end table. An oil lamp sat near his elbow and illuminated the pages his eyes squinted to read.

"Yes," she answered, hanging her cloak on a hook near the door. Her tears had dried up by now, but her sadness still sounded in her voice.

"And? Did he take it well?"

"He didn't take it," she replied with a shake of her head. "I didn't think he would."

He shrugged. Both had expected no less. "You've done what you can. Now it's up to him." His eyes returned to the book in front of him, and she nodded in a half-hearted agreement. For a moment neither said anything. Then he looked up from his notes again and made a suggestion that surprised her. "Go be with him tomorrow."

"What?"

"I'll be meeting with a couple Shapers to talk about my newest project. It won't be much interest to you, not yet anyway, and I think he could use your company more than I can. Go be with him at his brother's funeral. Perhaps, if he sees your worth as a friend, he will reconsider."

"You trust him that much?"

"No," he answered. "I trust _you_." He waited a moment in case she responded then delved into his reading once again.

She excused herself to go to bed, hid behind the closed bedroom door and slipped into her plain white night gown. She crawled under covers, huddling against the wall although the stone chilled her body and caused her to shiver. In her cold and sleepless condition she thought about Tuldaric's words. He was putting a lot of trust in her. Had it been the other way around she doubted she would be so understanding, and she wouldn't have suggested he spend a day with a woman he was once very close to. Her parents would say the trust was too generous and would insist on an escort to be certain she (or Andras) did nothing outside of appropriate. Tuldaric, however, trusted her. Her honesty with him had earned her that much, but she hoped to prove such trust was well deserved.

* * * *

"Why are you sleeping out here?" Tanor stood over Andras, looking down at him as if he were a recently discovered corpse. He felt like one. He blinked his eyes in the bright light of morning, taking a moment to survey his surroundings before he remembered where he was. The herb garden. He fell asleep near an old splintery bench but he had difficulty recalling how or why he ended up there.

"Long night," he managed in a hoarse voice. Tanor helped pull him to his feet, waiting until his balance was stable before releasing his arm.

"For good reasons, I hope," the professor commented with a smile. He shook his head.

"I'm afraid not." He propped himself against the trunk of a tree as he tried to clear his head of the sleepy dementia that still clung to him.

"You need to let her go," Tanor offered as though he were being helpful.

He shook his head. "It's not that easy."

"Why not?"

He glared over his shoulder at the professor. If Tanor had ever loved any of the women he frequently sported with he wouldn't need to ask that.

"Look, Andras, whatever the two of you had it's over, and there is no room for trying to get it back. You need to focus on what lies ahead of you." Andras' body language made it clear that he didn't want to hear any of it. "You don't think I haven't been where you are now? There was a girl at my school, Maya was her name, and she was the most beautiful woman I had ever seen. I was in love with her, I wanted to marry her, but I went on to become an Agent and she a Shaper. When we saw each other again she had married someone else. Never thought I'd recover, but time has a way of healing the wounds fate inflicts." He paused, letting his words soak in. "I really do see myself in you. The son I never had."

"If I meant that much to you why did you let them send me to Shaper school?"

Tanor nearly choked. "Let them? What choice did I have?" He sighed. "My boy, you _were_ going to be an Agent until your father stepped in. He's the reason you're going to become a Shaper now. Thank him."

Andras felt disgusted. He wanted to be angry with Tanor but it was all going back to Kristoff. "The last six years of my life I've trained for what? Nothing. All this work to become an Agent only to have it washed away by a pathetic bribe."

"Well, actually that didn't come cheap from what I heard." He chuckled and patted Andras on the back. "In my years of being an Agent then training them I had never seen a prospect that compared to you. You would have been great, no doubt one of the best, but for reasons outside of my control you will never realize that potential. But you can still be the best."

Andras looked at him, confused. "Best at what?"

"Shaping, of course. Focus yourself like I know you can and you will be. Find an area that interests you and specialize. Battle magic, perhaps. Seems suited for you. And be the best _they've_ ever seen and you might find you enjoy it." He motioned for Andras to follow him and both walked out of the clearing on the narrow path leading back to the school. "I know you love a good challenge."

"Yes…?"

"That's my challenge for you. But you'll find yourself in poor shape to live up to that challenge, or any other, if you cannot forget one girl."

The suggestion that he should just forget Carnelian infuriated him, but he looked away to hide the angry flush in his face. It didn't go unnoticed.

"Come now," Tanor said. "I have a group of junior students wanting a sparring demonstration today. Wooden staffs, your favorite, yes? And I think you could do with a little… release of aggression." Andras thought on it a moment, then nodded. Tanor gave him instructions of where and when to meet then started walking off. "I trust you will leave me with all the students I started with," he called back. Andras shook his head.

Don't count on it.

* * * *

Margus' funeral was still hours away when Andras arrived at the spot Tanor was holding the demonstration. It was in the combat training arena which was little more than a large dirt oval surrounded by thick walls designed to keep the most powerful sparring "partners," such as Battle Gammas or Glaahks, inside. Here he had faced off with a number of battle-oriented creations as well as other students and even fully-trained Guardians. His losses rivaled his wins in number, but each one taught him a valuable lesson of where he went wrong and where to do better. Now it was his turn to administer such lessons to the younger students and he was looking forward to it.

The weapon of choice was the wooden staff, a personal favorite of his, but it had little use against the larger and stronger creations which meant he probably wasn't going to face anything like that today. As he stood in the arena it felt like he was back in his normal routine and for a moment he forgot everything that had been troubling him.

It was a nice feeling.

But it didn't last. The moment he was introduced by the professor as the one to give the demonstration the students stared at him in wide-eyed wonder, a few muttering comments about him being a Shaper. The markings. He remembered them now, remembered that this was going to be his farewell to Agent training, and the sick feeling in his stomach returned.

The group consisted of 9 students from the class behind him, and two more from yet a younger class (Tanor recruited them younger and younger nowadays). That made the older students about 18, the younger around 14. In all there were 7 men, if they qualified as men, and 4 women.

"Left or right?" he asked.

"Start with the right," the professor answered. "I don't think we have any that prefer the left here today… besides you."

He had trained right-handed for close to two years before Tanor realized this student was left-handed, so he became proficient with both but the left always dominated in strength and skill.

The students were eager to learn and few needed any help remembering where their focus belonged. One of the girls did, however. She seemed too absorbed in something else, Andras could only guess what, but a quick slap on the leg with a staff coupled with a sharp reprimand reminded her to pay attention. Although she looked like she might cry at first, she never did, it was one part of the lesson she didn't forget.

Andras explained and demonstrated various blocks, strikes, and combinations that utilized both in varying numbers. Then the students would try them as he rotated through all of them to give one on one instruction while the others practiced with each other.

Tanor raised his hands to stop the demonstration, and all eyes went to him.

"Now we will see these skills put into practice." He looked over at Andras. "Are you ready?"

He nodded.

The sun burned hot now and his clothes were beginning to stick to his skin. He shucked his tunic off, trying not to smile or blush when he heard an exclamation from one of the girls that watched. She was one of the younger students, and had yet to learn the art of discretion. But he didn't mind. A little flattery did a lot to boost his sagging morale.

"Those are some impressive scars you have there," Tanor remarked. Andras didn't understand the significance of that comment. Tanor had to have seen those scars dozens of times before. Perhaps they were brought up as a reminder how and why he got them as if he could forget. Whatever questions he might have had for the motives were soon answered. He was introduced to his sparring partner, one of the Guardians that resided at the school. It was then he understood his professor's comment. Here was the man who had given him those scars.

If Andras had been in a generous mood he would have dismissed this Guardian's involvement in the harsh discipline he received for his romance with Carnelian. After all, he was only doing as instructed by Kristoff who had told him, "…until he collapses. I want this to be a lesson he won't soon forget!"

Until he collapsed. That was how long this man lashed him with the leather flog. It was supposed to be a kindness his father paid him to allow him to serve a punishment other than expulsion, and if Andras had been smart he would have forsaken his pride and fallen to his knees to end it early on, but his unwillingness to allow his father to reign victorious kept him on his feet. He wanted it to hurt Kristoff, too, though in the end it was doubtful it did.

It hurt his mother, if anyone else. Kristoff allowed her to bathe the wounds with an herbal dressing designed to accelerate the healing process and clear any infection, but her persistent requests that a healing spell be performed were denied. He was to heal the long way, on his own, even though she expressed her concerns that such extensive injuries would leave scars if no spells were performed. Kristoff didn't care. If he scarred, good. Those scars could serve to remind him that disobedience would never be tolerated.

They did serve as a reminder, but not to make him behave. They reminded him how Margus had betrayed him, and how his father took so much pleasure from his son's agony. Now they reminded him how this man appeared to enjoy doling out those brutal lashes and how much he wanted to repay the favor.

"Full contact, until the opponent stays down." Tanor announced. Both men nodded, neither one taking their eyes off the other. Tanor walked up to Andras and in a hushed voice said, "Enjoy," then gave him an encouraging slap on the shoulder before walking over to stand with the students. "Begin!"

Being left-handed had its advantages. His attacks came from a side that most opponents weren't used to blocking and because of that he was able to land a couple painful blows early on. His movements stayed low to the ground. The more feet off the ground the less control he had, and the taller he stood the bigger target he made.

Carnelian could hear the commotion in the arena long before she stepped inside. She had come here enough times to know what it meant and it was no surprise to see Andras was one of the fighters. She always worried for him, but in all the times she came and watched she rarely had to witness one of his losses.

Tanor looked her way a moment, a disapproving frown crossing his face.

"You shouldn't be here," he said to her. "He's having enough trouble as it is."

"That's why I'm here. There's something I must say to him."

"My dear, unless you're going to tell him that you're his forever then it's nothing he needs to hear."

"I'm not leaving." She planted herself in place, though had Tanor wished to remove her it would not have been difficult.

He shrugged. "Suit yourself." His attention refocused on the match and he seemed oblivious to her presence. "Keep him on the offensive, good. Quick now… watch it," he muttered to himself, almost as engrossed in the fight as the participants were. He'd move his body when he wanted Andras to dodge, he'd jab his hand forward when he saw an opportunity to strike.

Carnelian gasped and Tanor cringed as the Guardian's staff avoided Andras' block and hit his shoulder with a loud THWACK. It knocked him off his feet, sending him to the ground for a faceful of dust. He was quick to be back on his feet. He could not fall, he would not. If anyone would be crawling away from this match it wasn't going to be him.

"I remember you. You're the proud one, the one who wouldn't fall."

He wouldn't dignify that remark with a response. He dodged a jab, knocking the opponent's staff away from his body before he swung it low and hit the man's ankle. A scream echoed against the arena walls. He landed three more successive blows, knocking the Guardian down, each strike sounded more painful than the last. Then one more, over the arm that was outstretched to protect his face; the staff splintered and the man screamed. Using his foot, Andras pinned him to the ground, holding one half of the staff up as he poised to strike again.

"Andras!" Tanor screamed at him as he ran over. "He's down, he's down."

It took a moment before Andras realized what he was about to do. He was going to kill this man. Jagged edge of the broken staff pointed at the throat, he was going to ram it through. Tanor pulled him back, removing the weapon from his hands. The Guardian stared up at him, fear in his eyes, but he said nothing as he scrambled back to his feet, cradling his injured arm.

"Thank you, Gelvin," Tanor dismissed the man in haste, still keeping himself between him and Andras. "You had me worried. I thought you were going to do it."

"I was," Andras answered, watching the Guardian leave the arena with a quickened pace. He didn't bother to wash down his wounds. He would probably see to that later when he was sheltered from the embarrassment of loss.

"There may come a time when it's necessary to take another man's life, but that was not it."

He signed and nodded in agreement. "I know."

"It changes a man. Once you kill, something inside you dies as well. Something you will never get back."

"What?" He never heard Tanor sound so serious. He almost felt ashamed for winning that match.

"When it happens, you'll know." He motioned to Carnelian. "She's been waiting for you." He said nothing else as he walked away, gathering the students, who still stood with mouths agape, to follow him back to the school. Andras was left standing alone beneath the skeptical gaze of the beautiful woman that stood several yards away. His stomach knotted up so fast he almost got sick.

"Can I talk to you?" She jogged over to him.

"Talk?" He cocked his head to one side, making little effort to hide the edge in his voice. "I thought you said it all last night."

"No…"

"You have a wonderful fiancé and no use for me anymore. Isn't that about right?"

She let out a frustrated groan and tossed her hands up in defeat. "You stubborn _ass_! Did you not listen to a thing I said yesterday?"

"What was it I missed?"

"How can you say I have no use for you anymore? It's _you_ that doesn't want us to be friends. You can't settle for anything less than everything, can you?"

His mouth opened to respond, but then shut before he said anything he would later regret. Instead he took to ignoring her, turning his back to her as he gathered his discarded clothing. She gasped.

"What happened?" He felt her fingers touch him very lightly on his back, taking notice of the scars that marred his skin.

"You weren't the only one punished for what happened." He pulled his tunic on in a hurry, straightening it with his hands, so to take her eyes away from that horrifying memory.

"Was it because of us?" He nodded. "I'm sorry," she offered. "That you had to go through something so terrible. No one should, not for that."

He didn't want her sympathy. "I would rather go through that again than …" He sighed and shook his head. He couldn't finish that, or he wouldn't.

"Than what? See me?" she finished for him.

"Than see you with _him_," he corrected, then he occupied himself with fixing his belt, reattaching his Agent's knife to the strap and situating it near his hip, so he wouldn't have to look her in the eye.

"Then we've both suffered, but it doesn't have to continue. We can still be together, comfort each other, look out for one another… just as friends now."

His eyes met with hers again, his head moving from side to side so subtly he wasn't sure she could see it. "I can't." He stepped closer to her, mostly because she stood between him and the exit but his proximity made her uncomfortable. She didn't back away, but her eyes looked down, so much they looked closed, and her breaths escaped from her parted lips in short nervous breaths. He imagined he could hear her heart pounding in her chest, or perhaps it was his own. He thought about it, thought about kissing her just then. It would have been easy, just a short distance and their lips would meet and she invited him the way she stood there. He resisted, walking past her in a hurried pace knowing if he remained there a moment longer his will power would have failed. Then what? Didn't matter now. He was heading back to the complex where he would clean up, fetch his new dress robes, and prepare for his final farewell to Margus.

She watched him leave, standing just outside the gates of the arena with her eyes fixed on his shrinking form. The stiff brisk movements of his walk showed he was angry and she hated knowing it was her that put him in that state, but what else could she do? She wanted to stop him, to tell him they could be together and everything would work out for the best, but that was just a fairy tale. Life didn't work that way. Instead she remained fixed in place until her eyes could no longer follow him as he disappeared through a small side gate leading him to the innermost grounds of the school. This meeting had not gone as she hoped, just like the last, but it was nothing short of what she expected. Tuldaric, it seemed, held more optimistic hopes for Andras than she did.

It wasn't until the funeral when she saw him again. A substantial amount of people were gathered for the service considering Margus had not been very old when he died. Many were professors that had come to know him during his apprenticeship, students that he helped, and a few other friends he had made along the way. And his family was there which consisted of Lanira, Kristoff, and of course Andras.

She watched him from across the room, trying to keep her glances infrequent enough that others wouldn't notice. On occasion he'd look up and make eye contact with her, then both would look away to pretend nothing happened.

This wasn't going to work. Andras was right, they couldn't be just friends. Each time she looked over at him, and especially when he met her gaze, she felt fluttering in her stomach and her knees were ready to buckle. She doubted she would ever be able to stand in his presence and not be rendered weak. It was his eyes, those beautiful gray eyes that contrasted against his dark skin which was a gift from his mother's outsider heritage. When they weren't looking her way they were fixed on the chiseled stone sarcophagus in the center of the room around which everyone was still gathering and talking amongst themselves. He stood taller than most, his hands clasped loosely together before him, a statue among the moving bodies around him.

He wore a long-sleeved black tunic which offset the deep wine color of the Shaper robe he now wore. There were several different types of robes one could choose depending on what they were most comfortable in. Andras had chosen a sleeveless robe, more of a vest though the length went down to his ankles. The shoulders flared out a tad, and a black leather belt trimmed it in at the waist. He had a hood, but kept it lowered. His forearms were wrapped, wrist to elbow, in a soft black fabric to taper the sleeves in, a common practice to keep a loose-fitting tunic from interfering with work. Whether he cared to admit it or not that robe suited him.

She shouldered her way around the room through the crowd until she stood by his side. He acknowledged her with a quick puzzled look, but didn't say anything for or against her presence there. Taking his silence as permission she stood by his side, her hands wrapped around his arm to let him know she was there for him, but at times she wasn't sure who comforted who. More than once her eyes watered and a tear strayed down her cheeks, but she wiped them away in hopes he wouldn't notice. Hers weren't the only wet eyes in this cramped room, but his were dry.

He had yet to shed tears for his brother's death.

Andras' parents stood across from him, Lanira was as poised and stoic as ever as she leaned close to her husband. No doubt she had done her share of grieving in the sanctuary of the night when no one else would hear her. On occasion she would look at Andras, passing him a reassuring smile, but today her duty was not to her son but to Kristoff. The old man stood still as a statue, ready to crumble at the slightest touch. Whether or not he needed the comfort of his wife's hand Andras couldn't tell. He doubted it. He doubted there was warm blood running through those veins.

The ceremony seemed interminable, and he was anxious to leave. Something about standing there in the presence of his brother's corpse made him ancy, and when the heavy lid of the sarcophagus was pushed aside for all to look in, he felt instantly queasy. He never looked to reaffirm it, but he thought he saw Carnelian shy away from the site as well.

Once everyone had spoken the words they wished to speak on Margus' behalf a line formed for those wishing to say their last farewell to him. Andras waited until most of the crowd had dissipated before he approached. He forced himself to look inside the stone casket. His brother's pale form slept peacefully with his hands resting over his still chest. It looked as though there was nothing wrong with him. He stood a long while, watching to see if the chest would rise and fall in the motion of breathing. Of course, it never did.

"We've both been given new paths," Andras whispered as he placed a gift on his brother's chest; his Agent's knife, the last remnant of his dream that died with Margus. It seemed to be an appropriate place to bury it.

He didn't stay after that. With Carnelian in tow he walked out, finding a place outside to catch his breath and try to shake off the dizziness that was starting to consume him. Lack of air, perhaps. He felt choked in there. Leaning against the wall he coughed until he felt the dusty air was sufficiently cleaned from his lungs.

"If you want to grieve for your brother alone…" she started to offer.  
"It's not for my brother!" he snapped, pushing away from the wall with his leg and walking past her in a hurried pace.

He stopped and glanced in the tomb, spying the stone box his brother's body lie in with an old man hunched over it, crying. For a moment he stood there, pondering if he should go inside and offer some comfort. He felt pity for the poor creature that grieved for his lost son, but the feeling dissipated quickly. Kristoff raised his head, his face red and streaked and his gray hair disheveled. His eyes settled on Andras and searched him for something, a sign of pity perhaps even forgiveness but he would find none there. When Andras glanced over at his mother she gestured for him to approach. Even if it were just for that moment and never again in his life Kristoff needed to know he had a son who still loved him.

"Go," Carnelian whispered from behind him. He stared awhile longer at the pathetic man before him, but he could not bring his feet to move. Allow me this one small revenge. He turned and walked away taking with him a small amount of satisfaction knowing that his father was indeed still human.

"Andras?" Carnelian called after him. He ignored her and kept walking, though he didn't know where, just away. "Wait!" It took some effort, but she caught up to him, grabbing his hand to catch his attention. "You don't truly have that much hate in your heart that you cannot offer a single word of comfort to your own father?"

He turned to face her. "In all my life, he's never offered me one!" She shook her head.

"Now is not the time to be spiteful. He has just lost his eldest son, the least you could do…"

"I don't need lectures on how to handle my father," he interrupted. "Whose side are you on, anyway?"

"I've always been on your side, Andras. That's why I'm telling you this."

"Don't pitty him!" he said in a weakening voice. "He put his own children in the grave." She was shaking her head. "He put Margus there, just as he put Vera there."

"You can't still blame him for that after all these years."

He started to speak but thought better of it. Carnelian didn't deserve to hear the angry retort he had prepared for her. Her hazel eyes were sad as they looked at him. She cared, and she was one of the few who still did even if he didn't like how she was showing it. He collapsed to his knees and pulled her close. He expected he would have frightened her, but she seemed to know what he needed better than he did. Her arms surrounded his head and pressed him close to her bosom while her fingers combed through his short black hair in gentle caresses. Her touch eroded the barrier that held back the emotions he had denied himself for days and the tears he had not yet shed for Margus found their way down his face.

There they remained for a long while locked together, his hands clutching at the back of her robe. He felt foolish for coming apart in front of her like that, but he needed the release and he would not have wanted it to be in front of anyone else, not even his mother.

"I'm sorry," he spoke in a hushed voice as he pulled away from her. She shook her head.

"No, Andras. You have nothing to apologize for." Her fingertips stroked his cheeks, following the contour of his face down to his jaw. "I want to be here for you, as your friend. I want to be the one to share your joy and your pain."

"Carnelian… I cannot accept you as nothing more than a friend. To be so close to you, and know you find comfort in another man's arms… you might as well strike me dead."

She sank down to her knees where he was once again taller than her. Her head rested on his shoulder and arms draped around his shoulders. He responded in kind with his arms around her waist, and there he held her against him tight. The feeling of her in his arms healed the wounds he suffered for the last three days, and for a moment, everything felt right.

"I love you, Andras. Years apart cannot change that." He withdrew from her, holding her at arms length to look upon her face.

"If you had the choice," he began, brushing auburn locks from her face. "If nothing stood in your way, would you choose to stay with me?"

She looked down, trying to hide the tear that fell, then nodded. "Yes."

"Then we will be together." He wiped the tear away with his thumb.  
"Andras…"

"We'll find a way."

She frowned. "How?" She waited for his answer. He didn't say anything but she seemed to sense where his mind drifted. "You can't hurt him."

"Even if it's the only way?"

She didn't shake her head. "I don't want that on my conscience. You cannot hurt him. I wouldn't want to know if you did." She waited until he nodded before the stern look on her face melted away. His nod signaled an agreement. Not for the mercy she requested on Tuldaric's behalf, he made no promises for that, but that she wouldn't know his involvement in whatever might befall the Shaper. It would be an accident in all other eyes. He already constructed a rudimentary plan, and he had years in Shaper school to perfect it. If that's what it took to secure what was rightfully his, then so be it.

He would kill a hundred Tuldarics to keep her. He would have given up his dreams of becoming an Agent for her.

"I know that look," she spoke up. He snapped out of his thoughtful daze.

"What look?"

She pressed her finger against his lips, then his chin. "The look you get on your face when you're concocting something mischievous in that mind of yours. Promise me whatever you do, you will not hurt him."

"It won't hurt," he answered, the corner of his mouth turned up in a sly smile ever so slightly.

Carnelian missed nothing. "Andras! Promise me."

He took her hand in his and held it against his chest. "I promise your conscience will be clear." Before she had time to muster a protest he kissed her. She pretended to fight back. Her hands pushed against his chest with a weak effort, but her fingers clutched at his vest and her lips never left his. He knew better. She put on a show because she knew they shouldn't be doing this and her sense of propriety dictated that she should fight. But she couldn't deny herself what she wanted as much as he did. When they parted her once-fair cheeks were blushed bright red. He smiled, and brushed the back of his fingers over her reddened cheeks, feeling the heat that emanated from them. There was no hiding how she felt from him. Her body told all.

"You shouldn't have done that…" She tried to sound disapproving. He dared her with another kiss, she gave the same futile resistance with her body, but her lips accepted him. He slipped a hand beneath her robe, nestling against the curve of her lower back. The second soon followed.

"We can't!" She pulled back and sprang to her feet, rubbing the bits of dry grass and leaves off her dress. She hurried away, looking to escape to safety once again. He stood, opting not to pursue. Instead, he took a post leaning against a nearby tree, crossing his arms over his chest waiting for her to second guess herself.

It took a few seconds, but she paused just as he knew she would.

She turned to face him, tossing her hands out in a show of futility. "Where is this going?" she asked.

"Where ever you want it to," he answered.

Her eyes drifted back towards the distant walls of the inner perimeter. She saw security there, and for a moment it tempted her. Nothing would happen there that would give her reason to live in fear. In fact, nothing would happen there that gave her reason to live at all. There she would find the monotony of a predictable life, each day like the one before it. Remaining here offered nothing safe nor stable, and she couldn't know what would happen next, but the call of danger was hard to ignore. It called her to him.

She made her decision. Her feet moved slowly, her stomach knotting up and her heard pounding through her chest. Andras left his tree, meeting her halfway with hands outstretched to accept her. Fear drained the color from her cheeks, but he had plans to put the pink back in them again. Whatever the future held for them, tonight she belonged to him.

* * * *

Nightfall. Lanira hurried down the dark hall to the temporary quarters she shared with Kristoff during their stay at Mennetak. Her run in with Carnelian's mother and father had not gone well. Both were concerned their daughter had not been seen since the funeral, since Carnelian had been seen with Andras, and now they looked to her for answers. Of course, she had none.

"I thought I saw her with Tuldaric not long ago," she offered, trying to walk away as she spoke. They didn't seem satisfied with the answer, but when she insisted Andras was resting in his quarters they left her be. She walked faster.

One more turn and down another stretch of hall and she would be safe to pretend all was well. When she found Andras, she had a thing or two to say to him. None of it nice.

"Lanira," Tuldaric stopped her. She had hoped to avoid this meeting. She knew what question came next. "Where is your son?"

She turned, already shaky from the encounter with Carnelian's parents. Damn Andras for putting her in the position to lie _twice_. "He's resting," she answered, trying to hide the waver in her voice. Lying was not one of her talents. The Shaper's expression looked doubtful. He stood, hands folded in front of him, staring as though he expected her to buckle and confess the truth he already seemed to know.

"May I see him?"

She paused. "I think it best to let him rest, Master Tuldaric. Today was very difficult for Andras."

Tuldaric nodded to show he understood. She knew he didn't sympathize, however. "Your son's interest in my fiancée does cause me concern when I can account for the whereabouts of neither."

Lanira stood stiff as the walls around her. "My son suffered a terrible punishment for what happened two years ago. You can rest assure that he took that lesson to heart." _To not get caught_, she finished in her mind.

"If I find otherwise, Lanira, _you _can rest assure I will pursue the most severe punishment the Council will provide." His eyes searched hers for the better part of a minute before he released her from his stare and turned to excuse himself. "I hope he _is_ resting well. It would be a shame for you to lose your last son so soon."

With that he departed, leaving Lanira's temper flaring and her heart pounding. If she found Andras… so help him… even the gods couldn't subdue her wrath tonight.


	4. Chapter 4

GeneforgeMartin 18

Chapter 4- Greetings of War

Standing on the docks with his arms crossed over his chest Andras watched from his perch on a stone wall as the ship was prepared to make sail. They would be leaving soon, the six students from his school and three additional from Delbin. All were on the docks now, most talking nervously with their parents or other well-wishers while stocky serviles hauled their heavy trunks onboard. Nobody had come to wish Andras well or to see him off yet. He didn't expect Kristoff to make an appearance but his mother's absence was a little disheartening.

He focused his eyes and his thoughts on Carnelian more often than not. She was standing with Tuldaric with her arm interlocked with his as she spoke to her parents, a smile frequenting her face. She didn't look over at him much, and when she did she made it a point to look away but he noticed each time she did her cheeks looked a little pinker. He smiled to himself.

"Do you fancy her?"

Andras jumped with surprise, and looked over his shoulder to see the speaker. It was one of the Delbin students, the short man with dark hair cut short much like his. What he lacked in height he made up for with a stocky build, more so than what was typical for a Shaper and so Andras wondered if this man had also trained for something else, perhaps Guardian? He would ask some other time.

"I noticed you were watching her, but you would do well to forget about her. She's-"

"Betrothed, I know," Andras cut in, his eyes returning to the large sea-Drayk floating in the water.

"I was going to say peculiar, but that is also true."

Andras was a bit annoyed by this newcomer, but he turned to him and offered his hand out for a greeting. "I don't believe we've met. I'm Andras." He sounded edgy even in his own ears but he didn't care. The other accepted his hand and shook it with some vigor.

"Zalex," the other greeted.

"So, Zalex, in what way is she peculiar?" He doubted anyone from Delbin or standing on those docks, with the exception of her parents (perhaps), knew Carnelian better than he did; but he was curious to hear what would make someone call her peculiar. She was a lot of things, but that wasn't something that came to his mind.

"Well, she doesn't treat serviles right."

Andras was confused. "How so?" He never knew her to mistreat anything, much less a servile.

"Just a moment ago when a servile took her trunk, she thanked him."

"Thanked him?" he repeated. He hadn't seen it for himself, but that did qualify as peculiar. "She was speaking to someone else."

Zalex shrugged. "Maybe, but she's done it before. In fact, she does it whenever a servile does something for her. I've seen it many times. As I said before, she's peculiar. Treating those creatures like that is asking for rogues."

Andras was quiet. He didn't know what to say in her defense. There really was no excuse for such nonsense but he could overlook that about her. It wouldn't come as a big surprise to see her over-nurturing serviles. After all, she spoke to plants.

Speaking of Carnelian, she walked over to where Andras and Zalex stood. Her mouth curved into a bright smile as she greeted them both with equal enthusiasm. She adopted an air of propriety, asking them about their morning, but her eyes twinkled with a hint of mischief when she asked Andras about his. She knew very well what kind of morning _he_ had.

"I see you've met Zalex." He nodded. "He's Tuldaric's nephew," she explained. "And one day he will be mine as well."

No he won't. Andras had to remind himself she was just talking to sound proper in front of a mixed audience but he still wanted to correct her. Zalex was not going to become her nephew because Tuldaric was _not_ going to become her husband. He wanted to blurt it out so Zalex's fake smile would fade from sight.

"I wish to speak with you," he heard his mother speak up from behind him. She came at last! He turned to see her staring up at him with a rather perturbed expression. His stomach knotted up. Perhaps his elation was premature. What could she want to talk about? It could have been anything but he was afraid to guess, and as unhappy as she looked he feared she might know something he didn't intend for her to find out. Did Margus tell her that, too?

"Go ahead," he offered, but she glanced over at the audience standing next to him and shook her head.

"Alone. Come with me."

He looked over at Carnelian and Zalex and nodded to excuse himself before he followed Lanira's retreating form. H hoped one or both of them might have said something to rescue him from what he feared was coming next, but he walked uninterrupted to one of the supply buildings where she directed him to the first room they came upon.

"In here," she ordered, waiting until he walked in before she followed. She closed to door before saying another word then turned to him. "Where were you last night?" That was a loaded question and he shifted uncomfortably under her expectant gaze. His lack of a reply told her what she needed to know. "Andras, please tell me you weren't with Carnelian."

"It would be a lie," he answered, crossing his arms over his chest to form a defensive shield and looking down to avoid her stare. Even in the dim light he could feel her eyes burning into him.

"She's engaged! You can't be doing that, you shouldn't be. Have I not taught you better?"

"You taught me to follow my heart and I have." It was a pitiful effort to turn it back on her and it wouldn't work, he already knew it.

"Were you following your heart or your…" She emitted a sound of disgust and muttered words in her outsider tongue as she started pacing. She never taught him more than a few words in her old language because his father, in efforts to banish any hint of her outsider heritage, had forbidden it; but he could tell by the tone of her voice those words weren't saying anything nice about him.

He watched her move about the room, trying to think of something to say to stop her or at least make her see that what he did _was_ the right thing. "I love her."

"She's not yours!" she snapped. The volume of her voice surprised him, but he held firm.

"I've lost everything else I care about, allow me this."

She was shaking her head. "I can't, you can't. This isn't anything I have control over. She is to marry Tuldaric. She belongs to _him_. If it's discovered what you've done…"

"Are you going to turn me in?"

She stopped, looking insulted by the idea she could betray her own son. "Of course not, but do you really think that's the only way you'll be caught?" Her angry expression melted into concern. She held his face between her hands so he would have to look her in the eye and see that she was thinking only of him. "Andras, these things don't stay hidden very long. The consequences a student faces if caught are harsh, you've already tasted that, but the consequences for adultery can be deadly and that is what the two of you are doing. I've seen it before, and it always ends badly. I don't want that happen to you."

He pulled away from her. "It won't," he assured her.

"How long do you think you can hide this?"

"Years if I must."

"Years? You'll be lucky to keep it secret for months." He responded with a questioning look. "Tell me, what will happen when she becomes pregnant? That will make it a little harder to keep out of sight, don't you think?"

"Is that all you wanted to talk about?" He was trying to deflect the question, knowing he had been given a dose of reality he couldn't deny.

"You're not going," she announced.

"Yes, I am. I want to now."

"For the right reasons?" she asked, hands on her hips and head tilted to the side.

"What _are_ the right reasons? I want to go. What else matters?"

"If the only reason you want to go now is because she's there then it does matter. I'm going to speak to your father. We'll make other arrangements… a different school, perhaps." She turned to walk away from him but he grabbed her by the shoulder.

"No. I'm going today, on that boat, with her." He never stood up against his mother before, at least he was never able to do it effectively, but this time he refused to budge. Nothing she could say, nothing Margus could add in the back of his mind was going to change his stance.

She turned to face him again, her frown weighing heavy on her face. "You're making a mistake, Andras."

"Perhaps, but it's my mistake to make, no one else's. I accept whatever consequences my actions might bring." He sounded so confident he almost fooled himself.

"Even if those consequences cost you your life?" She waited a moment, seeing he was unconcerned then added, "Or hers?"

"I'm going," he repeated. Lanira sighed, shaking her head one last time to show her disapproval.

"I hope I'm wrong." She reached beneath the white gossamer fabric that draped over her frame like a robe and produced a long, narrow dagger. She offered it to him. "Seeing as you 'lost' your other one," she began, trying to sound cheery. It wasn't working. "One of the few things I was able to keep from my old home. I want you to have it. I hope it will offer you some protection against whatever foes you might face."

He accepted the gift, examining the knife in the poor light, then strung it on the black leather belt and slid it over to rest just over his right hip. He thanked her, then made his exit. She walked behind him back to the docks, solemn and silent.

"I was beginning to worry," Carnelian said to Andras when they reached her. "I thought we'd be leaving without you." She was being humorous but she couldn't know how much truth her words held. If his mother had her way, they would be leaving without him and he had come very close to caving to her wishes. He was proud that he held his ground, but also a little bothered knowing he caused her pain by doing so.

Lanira returned Carnelian's smile with a half-hearted effort

The girl that had helped Andras at the Awakening joined the group. She wore a bright smile as she approached, putting forth extra effort to make certain Andras noticed her arrival and looked her way. She stood by his side, opposite of Carnelian, regarding the other woman with an ill-disguised look of scorn. She greeted Lanira with a courteous bow of her head and smile.

Her hand rested against his back as she spoke, a strangely open move in front of so many professors. It would be frowned upon for her to pursue any romantic relations with him, but the difference was she had no one waiting to marry her. Frowning would be all they could do. For the next two or three weeks, they belonged neither to Mennetak or Tayedikal and could do almost whatever they pleased.

Andras felt exposed. No rules or threats of expulsion remained to protect him from the unwanted advances. He would have shook the hand off his back, or asked her to stop but seeing Carnelian's face darken with jealousy the more Anela stood next to him gave him reason to tolerate it for now. Let her see how it feels.

The lines were released and wrapped up onto the boat to await use in another port. Serviles scurried about to make certain everything was in its place. Andras and the others watched in amazement as the ship began to propel itself forward. The water lapped up at the hull, and below the surface the dark green scales showed through.

Andras watched the port disappear from sight, making his alienation from the world he once knew complete. From here on he was in a world completely new to him with only the written words of his deceased brother to serve as his guide.

A low rumble emitted from the Drayk's chest, rousing the attention of all students onboard. Andras turned around to see her enormous mouth open wide in a yawn before she continued her quiet trek onward. On either side of the boat he heard the sound of water stirring. He looked over the edge to see something massive emerge from beneath them. Two enormous wings unfolded, stretching high above them, sending a spray of water down on all below. Andras ducked, but kept his eyes upward to watch as the long fingers spread outwards and the thin membrane that stretched between caught the air and filled. Sails. She used her wings for sails. He smiled to himself. She was magnificent. It was incredible to think something so large, so grand, could be formed at human fingertips. But not his, not yet. He couldn't shape a flea right now, but one day he would give life to creations of even greater grandeur than this sea-worthy Drayk.

He read through his brother's passages about the ship. Margus had been just as awestruck by the giant beast as any of them were, but he mentioned something in his writings that nobody onboard had spoken of yet. Andras closed the book and hurried to the aft, looking over the edge. He didn't imagine all sea-Drayks had this, but it merited a look.

"What are you doing?" Carnelian called as she followed him over. It took a moment, but just as Margus promised Andras saw what he was looking for, blending in to the scaly hide beneath the wooden frame.

"Look. There!" He pointed, but she didn't see what he was showing her at first. Then one moved. It pointed its little snout up at the faces that watched it and let out a pathetic roar.

"Younglings!" she exclaimed with great delight. There were three once they located them all, and they clung to their mother with a fierce sense of duty. They were strange little creatures, none of them much larger than a man but in comparison to their mother they were tiny. Their bodies were wide and flat, and all four limbs were short-coupled and webbed. One day they may bear the weight of a large wooden vessel built atop and strapped to their bodies as well, but for now they skitted about freely.

"How did you know?" Carnelian asked, still offering her hand out in efforts to coax one youngster away from its maternal perch.

"Margus told me," he answered. He held the dried piece of meat Luke had given him earlier and ripped pieces off. He held his hand over the edge, lower than Carnelian's, until one snout ventured up high enough to sniff what he held. Almost the moment the creature sniffed him a long forked tongue slipped out and lapped at the piece of meat. It felt strange, scratchy and warm, and Andras dropped his bait into the open mouth.

The first full day of the trip was exciting to all who were aboard the ship. None had ever been on the sea before, at least not since they were old enough to remember. And watching the port fade into the dusky horizon had been a thrilling experience. By the second day the monotony of the expansive blue water began taking its toll. A few didn't have the stomachs for the constant rocking motion and Carnelian made up a tea that seemed to help.

Andras wasn't bothered by the sea's motion, but he was growing tired of the painful boredom it provided. He felt cramped on the small vessel. It was meant to carry no more than six students, and with nine aboard it was more than crowded.

There were bunks provided below in the cabin, stacked two high in rooms scarcely large enough to turn around in. There was also a small table for them to eat the stale bread, dried meat, and cheese that was provided for their meals. Two or three could sit down and eat at a time while the rest waited their turn. Andras took early to the habit of waking before dawn so he didn't have to wait for his breakfast.

The most unpleasant part was not the repetitive food or cramped conditions. It was who they had to share their cabin with. Shapers never shared space with serviles. They were filthy, unclean, and smelly creatures, but there were two aboard this boat to tend to the maintenance and whatever the students needed. Their stench was thick in the cabin below, and Andras, along with several others, found himself much more at home on the top deck where the air was clean and fresh.

Margus' words proved helpful on more than one occasion. Any question Andras could have thought to ask about where he was going or what to expect was answered in the journal. It helped him feel at ease, though he was no more happy about his destination than before. Knowing what to expect took some of the fear out of it and helped him prepare for the inevitabilities that lie ahead.

Luke kept him company a small portion of the time, when he tired of his talks with Caen (which wasn't hard to do.) Anela also took a seat by his side, sometimes she would inquire about what he read, but she brought up Margus all too often and Andras grew weary of the topic. The way she spoke of him, the woeful look on her face when she reminded herself (and Andras) that he was dead suggested her interest in Margus had been more than just a passing one. When Andras stopped responding to her ceaseless question about his brother, her presence became scarce as well.

"Look, an island!" Everyone rushed over to where she stood with spy glass in hand. Their bare eyes couldn't see what she saw, but when she handed the spy glass off to the next candidate he saw it to. Andras got it next, and he looked, following where her finger pointed. A small green and brown lump formed on the horizon, breaking up the dull monotony of the waters around them.

"What island do you suppose that is?" She was asking Andras, who shrugged as he passed the glass off to yet another person.

"Hard to say," he answered walking around her to snatch up his brother's journal then began flipping through the maps. From what he could see it was difficult to match the island up with any he saw drawn on paper, but when he considered where they were headed and where they came from there was only one logical choice, Sucia Isle.

Carnelian peered over his shoulder to see what he saw. He pointed a finger to the one he thought it was without offering any explanation as to how he deduced that. She didn't argue which meant she probably didn't know any better than he did.

"Barred?" she asked, noticing the large letters printed right above the name. Indeed, it was barred. Barred by the Shaper Council which meant Shapers had once inhabited that island and something happened, something terrible. Places were barred for serious problems that even Shapers couldn't control; a disease gone astray, a powerful creation that could not be contained or destroyed. It could have been any number of reasons, but what they both knew was the consequences for visiting a place barred by the Council were severe.

"Sucia?" Luke's voice chimed in, looking over Andras' other shoulder. Soon more crowded around to examine the map, most agreeing with the verdict.

"Should we get a closer look?" one asked. "That would put us about a day off course," another argued. "But it would verify our location," Luke suggested.

"The Drayk knows where she's going," Carnelian cut in. No one paid her any attention. "There's no reason to stray from our course."

"I'll go," Andras volunteered, ignoring her look of insult. "I'll take one of the younglings so we stay on course." Everyone agreed with a nod or a lack of objection except Carnelian who insisted that it was a bad idea for anyone to go, especially him. The island was barred, she reminded him, and that only happened for good reasons.

"I'm going for a closer look. I have no intentions of stepping foot on that island," he promised her, but he could see it was not making her feel any better. She had voiced her disagreement, but that was all she could do. He was going no matter what she did, "In the interest of science," he said.

Truthfully, he was anxious for any chance to get off the boat, even if it meant trading it for a much smaller one. The younger Drayks had no wooden frame built atop them which meant there wasn't much to stand on, and they skitted over the water much faster than their lumbering mother. He could make the trip in a fraction of the time it would take the rest of them on the back of one of those, and he had to admit he was curious.

A short while later they had coaxed a youngling Drayk into the water where it drifted alongside its mother, back flattened as it waited for its passenger. With spyglass strapped to his belt Andras grabbed the rope that was rigged with a pulley to lower him down.

"This isn't a good idea," Carnelian told him one last time. Her face wore a worried frown despite his best efforts to ease her fears.

"We'll have more of that cider when I get back," he told her, then he nodded to give the signal that he was ready. He held onto the thick rope with gloved hands, keeping his body rigid as it was hoisted up over the side, then lowered down. Carnelian's face watched him as he settled himself onto the young Drayk's back. He passed her one more smile for reassurance then spurred the little beast into action.

Through the spyglass Andras couldn't see much more than rocks, trees, and the occasional remnants of a civilization that once inhabited the island. He spied a few small birds, but nothing that spoke of the threat that had lead to the island being barred by the Council. His little Drayk followed the shoreline, still keeping a healthy distance away in case there were unseen dangers closer in. The island appeared to be split in half down the middle by a large inlet and even with a spyglass Andras couldn't see very far into it. If there had been more time he would have beckoned the creature he stood on to take him into it, but time ran short and they would need to hurry back to the mother Drayk soon.

Unsatisfied, but out of time, Andras gave the command to return and the scaly body surged ahead, turning in the direction of its mother's small silhouette on the horizon. More than once it called to her, a frightening sound that rumbled from deep within its throat and each time it was echoed by an ever deeper booming voice from the distance.

Before long they were alongside the large Drayk once again, and Andras was hoisted back onto the deck with another rope. He was met with many questions that none waited their turn to ask, and he did his best to answer as he could. No, he didn't see anything. No, it didn't look dangerous. No, he couldn't tell what happened. A rather uneventful exploration, he assured them, and after a few minutes the inquiries slowed then halted.

Once he was free to move about without more questions to slow him he took his normal seat at the prow of the ship, drawing a knee up to his chest as he rested his head against the rail behind him. It was not comfortable, but the quiet it offered him was relaxing. Carnelian joined him a short while later, sitting down next to him with a heavy mug held in her hands.

"Cider?" she asked. He smiled, a little surprised that she brought it to him so soon, but he shook his head to decline her offer. He preferred to drink without an audience.

"What about Zalex?" he asked, gesturing to the man as he sat not far away, still tending to his vigil of the two of them.

"He's not my father," Carnelian replied indignantly. "Besides, what harm is there in enjoying a nice mug of cider?"

Andras took the mug from her hand, eyes still locked on Zalex as he took a sip. Defiance. Zalex's expression and body language both told him to get up and leave, but he refused. Carnelian was _his_, and no one, least of all Zalex, would intimidate him from her side.

"What did you see?" she spoke up once he rested the mug against his thigh. She must have been waiting for the opportunity to question him herself but she had been elbowed out earlier. If anyone else had asked him that, he would have been annoyed.

"Well… beaches, trees, rocks…"

"Any buildings?" she cut in.

"Yes." He stopped to think. "Though by the looks of it they've been abandoned for quite some time."

"I wonder what happened there." She said it to herself, thinking out loud as her eyes searched the cloudy sky above her. They both wondered the same thing, but it didn't matter what curiosities they harbored, there were doomed to remain ignorant. Doubtful, if it had been centuries, that many on the Council were privy to that information either.

"Andras?" Luke's voice interrupted the quiet moment with a panicked call. Andras jerked his head up, seeing fear painted on his face. Luke pointed his hand towards the aft of the boat and asked, "Did you see that when you were there?"

Andras bounced up to his feet, forgetting his mug on the deck, looking in the direction of the outstretched finger then past. He felt his breath catch in his throat were it remained stuck for several seconds before he was able to exhale again. Was it a ship? It looked like one, but it lacked the organic form of a Drayk beneath the wooden prow and instead of massive wings stretched out to catch the wind it was propelled with large white sheets hung from wooden poles. It approached from the direction of the island he had briefly investigated, and despite its lack of moving parts it appeared to traverse the water faster than the Drayk.

"What is it?" Zalex asked, standing up and finding something else to fix his gaze on.

"I didn't see _that_," Andras insisted, wondering why they thought he had all the answers. His experience in these matters extended no farther than theirs. "Spyglass?"

There was a scramble of robes as more than one dashed to answer his request. He held his hand out, not looking to see who retrieved it for him, and closed his fingers around the hardened leather body as soon as he felt it in his hand. He held the spyglass up, examining the strange ship that pursued them. They were certainly no one of his kind. On their faces they were an abundance of hair that covered the jaw, and around the mouth. The hair on their heads was long and unkempt. A few wore silver armor and had swords pulled out as they prepared for a battle. Others worked the ropes, pulleys, and levers of the ship.

"Prepare yourselves," he warned. "They aren't looking to make friends."

Nobody responded. They looked at each other waiting for someone to suggest something.

"Can we go faster?" Andras asked, breaking the bewildered silence.

Caen hustled to the front, leaning over the prow to give the instructions to the Drayk. The deck beneath their feet surged forward signaling her immediate response. The giant wings lifted out of the water and fanned out, catching as much of the light wind as possible. Her head was pushed forward, mouth agape. She was working hard.

There was nothing to do but watch as the strange ship caught up to them. When they were close fierce-looking jigs emerged from the hull, stretching out to rake the claws into the flesh of the tiring Drayk. In their hands they held four pronged hooks and they prepared to hurl them onto the deck where the bewildered students stood. Voices on both sides shouted, but where Andras stood he heard words of fear.

The mother Drayk must have heard them. Before a hook could be tossed onto their deck or the vicious jig could snag her in its clutches she doubled back, turning on her tail hard. The once horizontal deck turned nearly vertical and knocked all passengers off their feet. Andras was swept off his feet like the rest, but he was one of the lucky few to grab a bracing with one hand and prevent himself from tumbling into the water. His other hand reinforced Carnelian's grip where she had grabbed the nearest thing to her, his arm. Caen, and two others were lost in the sea, and the rest hung on with faltering grips.

"Don't let go!" she pleaded. In his mind he promised her he would do no such thing, but his fingers stung from the splinters that embedded in his skin from his hasty grab and the weight they bore from his body and hers was threatening to pull them loose. He would have liked to release her and let her find her own hold, but she clung to him so tightly that he couldn't have shaken her loose if he wanted to.

The turn completed and the deck flattened out once more and the students that remained were jostled by the impact as they were upright once again. Six bodies lie on the deck, terrified and hurting from the violent maneuver. It took a few seconds, what felt like minutes, before Andras could gather enough sense about him to stand up once again. Carnelian remained on the floor, appearing very grateful to still be afloat.

He stared out behind them. The hostile vessel made its turn quick enough to be on the pursuit once again, and now they were three short. Out in the water he could see the flailing arms of two of his lost comrades, but there was no going back for them, not now. He would hope for their sakes they could stay afloat long enough to be rescued when it was safe once again to stop or even slow down.

It wasn't long before the ship was upon them once again, and again the Drayk executed a last minute turn on her tail to avoid getting snagged. The wooden boat was fast, and it had unending stamina, but it lacked the ability to turn on a second's notice and she began a zig-zagging course towards the island they had passed by not long before, keeping herself and her passengers just a breath away from being captured or worse.

One more was lost to the turbulent maneuvers before they wisened up to the strategy and huddled down on the deck, helping one another hang on to the wooden frame. Of course they all knew the Drayk couldn't keep on the run much longer. She was a living creature with limited endurance. Her efforts were evident in her labored gasps, flaring nostrils and widened eyes, but the will to survive urged her onward and she fought the fatigue that was trying to claim her. But how long before she succumbed?

"We'll have to fight," Andras announced.

Zalex shook his head. "With what? We have no weapons and none of us are trained to fight."

Andras was trained, but not enough to be able to take on these armored monsters and their weapons by himself. It would be a losing battle if it came to hand-to-hand, but he wasn't ready to resign himself to defeat just yet.

"Cut the lines!" Andras bellowed, taking his dagger out and slicing at the rope attached to the hook that was embedded in the wooden frame of the deck. Zalex and Carnelian also sawed at the ropes with their own knives, but the intruders were too fast. Two were on the deck within seconds, and more hooks were thrown and dug their teeth into whatever wood they could snag.

The scaly snout of the Drayk whipped around and snapped her teeth at the attackers, tearing a good chunk of their boat's prow and spitting it into the water. She went back for more, and continued tearing at them, snarling and growling in anger and pain as she struggled to be free of the jig.

One of the strangers lost his footing on her deck and tumbled into the water. He flailed and screamed for help, but the weight of his armor dragged him beneath the surface and he disappeared.

The other invader lunged for the weakest on the deck, Carnelian, but was stopped short by Andras. The two clashed, Andras armed only with a short dagger but without the burden of heavy armor he moved much faster. He dodged a couple jabs and a swinging sword before he slipped his hand through and sunk the dagger into the soft exposed throat. Both hands of the bearded man went to his neck, trying to prevent the scarlet blood from spraying out and dropping his sword on the deck.

The blood spilled onto Andras' bare hand as well, and the warmth shocked him. He drew his hand back, staring for a moment at the red spray covering his skin. Someone else's life stained his hand. In that moment he heard Tanor's words, "When you kill, something inside you dies as well. Something you cannot get back." He glanced back up to the dying soldier. The man stared at him, cursing him with his eyes as he sunk to the deck. For a moment he regretted what he had done, wishing he could take it back. But then more attackers boarded the ship, flailing weapons around threatening to harm his friends, and he forgot his woe. Andras kicked the dying soldier over the edge into the water and retrieved the blade his opponent dropped. Finally, a worth-while weapon! He met two more boarders in a similar manner, Zalex helping him dispatch one and send him over the edge, the other ended up without a head atop his shoulders. One had managed to rake Andras' shoulder with a knife before he, too, had departed from the rest of his body.

Andras didn't regret those. In fact, each one he dispatched sent a surging thrill through him. He liked it. He liked the way the sword cut into the flesh, sending out a spray of blood as it robbed his opponent of life. In his hands he held incredible power, the power of life and death and he chose to deal out death. It felt good.

"They're sending you to the wrong school!" Zalex exclaimed, the awe evident on his face and in his voice. Andras showed his agreement with a nod, still panting from his efforts. The ship pulled away, and didn't appear to be chasing them anymore, but he had a feeling that was no cause for celebration.

The vessel moved to face its broadside their way. They stood and watched it, not knowing what to expect but all had a feeling it couldn't be good. Andras' arm was throbbing, but he was too preoccupied with the enemy's intentions to tend to it yet. Thunder sounded and smoke spouted from a strange looking mouth that appeared through a window facing them. An explosion sounded, and water shot up into the sky, raining over them. Everyone dropped to the deck, including Andras who lost the weapons he had held in his hands. He looked around startled and confused. What had just happened?

There was no time to gather their senses before the thunder sounded again and was followed by another explosive geyser just in front of them. Carnelian screamed, the Drayk roared in anger. She was trying to swim away, now heavily injured from her run in with the strangers, but it wasn't fast enough or far enough. The explosions kept peppering the water around them, sending the geysers into the air each time and reminding them how close they were coming to being the next target.

Running away wasn't helping, and the mother Drayk must have realized that. She spun around, facing the ship that assailed her, and prepared her own firey breath in retaliation. The ball of fire hit the other ship's masts and the sheets of white erupted into flames, sending the men on the deck scrambling. Another explosion rang out.

"We have to get off this!" Zalex shouted to Andras who agreed with enthusiasm. There would be no happy ending for this duel, and when the boat sank, the students sank with her. One youngling still clung to its mother's tail and admidst the melee of the canon-fire and the retaliatory fireballs they were able to coax it over to the protected side where they would climb on. Four of them would be a bit much for such a little thing, but they had no other means of escape.

Zalex climbed down, Luke followed. Andras ducked to avoid a spray from another explosion, then searched around for Carnelian. Where was she? She had been standing by his side for the entire time, but now she was gone and he had only turned his head for a few seconds. His eyes scanned the water in case she had been knocked over board, but nothing showed up. Then he caught a glimpse of her inside the cabin.

"Carnelian!" he shouted for her, but she didn't answer. He ran over to the cabin, shouting her name down the short flight of stairs. A faint voice answered back. She was trying to round up the serviles that were hiding down there so they could be rescued as well. "Leave them," he commanded. He walked down the stairs and his feet stepped into ankle deep water and the level was rising.

"They'll drown," she insisted, still refusing to come back with him empty handed. He grabbed a handful of robe and dress on her shoulder and yanked her back with him. She shouted and screamed in protest, repeating "They'll die!"

"You'll die with them!" he hollered as he dragged her up on to the deck just in time to see the Drayk lay on the other ship a hefty shower of fire that left more wood on its hull and masts in flames. He stood still only for a moment to watch the display before he pulled Carnelian with him to the side where the other two were waiting. He lowered her down to where hands could grab her and pull her to safety.

It was his turn next, and he climbed over the railing and began walking his feet down the side. He lowered his foot to find something to stand up but he would never find that solid footing.

Canon fire hit the Drayk square in the chest and the explosion was immense, sending bits of scaly flesh and the wooden boat that had been built atop her back flying everywhere. Andras' body was thrown back and hammered into the water so hard that he was left dazed and drifting out of consciousness.

The water had swallowed him, and nearby the enormous body of the large Drayk was sinking to her grave on the sea floor. Andras was caught in the suction that was drawing him down with her, and his limbs fought against the current to no avail. Above his head he could see the light dancing on the surface of the choppy water fading away as he was drawn further down. There were black silhouettes of debris floating, but no where could his eyes find the silhouette of the little Drayk and its three rescued passengers. They must have fallen victim to the explosion as well.

His lungs began to ache, his head started to pound as the need to breathe was becoming overwhelming. He fought it as long as he was able to but soon instinct took over and he brought in a lungful of saltwater. His body spasmed as it realized there was no air to breathe but the more he fought the quicker he was losing. The faint light above him beckoned him back to the surface where he would breathe air once again, but a tunnel closed in on him and soon he could see nothing.

He heard a voice speaking to him. It was distant and muffled, but it soon became clear enough that he could understand what it was saying. It was Margus. He was talking about the things that happened to him when he sailed off to Shaper school. Then he spoke of their father, a man that Andras preferred not to ever think about, and he spoke of the pride he had for his brother who was also to become a Shaper. When the subject was brought up Andras felt angry at Margus. "Why would you do this to me?" he asked him, as though Margus had chosen to be killed so his brother would have to take his place. But Margus didn't answer. His tone changed.

"Why are you here?" he asked. "You don't belong here, not yet." Andras didn't understand. He liked it there, wherever "there" was, and he didn't want to go back. There was pain in the place he left. It was cold, frightening, unpleasant. His brother's form materialized before him, wearing the robes of a Master Shaper. He reached a hand out, touching Andras in the center of his chest. Although the fingers barely touched him Andras felt as though he had been kicked in the chest, and he doubled over, threatening to vomit or choke. His brother gave no explanation for his strange behavior. He disappeared from sight saying as he left, "It's time to wake up now."


	5. Chapter 5

GeneforgeMartin 12

Chapter 5- Sucia Island

For the second night in a row, a terrible nightmare detailing Andras' death plagued Lanira's sleep. She saw him thrown from the ship by an explosion, and his body drifted beneath the water's surface. He struggled to reach the surface as the depths pulled him further down. Soon his body relaxed as he accepted the inevitable breath of water, then he jerked violently; the body's last protest before accepting its grim fate. Soon the twitches and jerks stilled as well, his eyes remained open, but they saw nothing. His lifeless form drifted in the endless depths.

She woke up screaming his name.

"Andras is in danger," she told Kristoff after the second night. She knew the dream held truth. She had witnessed Margus' death days before it came to be. She felt sick up until the moment a Council official came to announce the grim news. The same sick feeling came over her as she watched Andras sail away on the sea-Drayk, but he had taken his stand and declared he would leave on that ship and nothing she could do would stop him. She let him go.

Her husband ignored her tearful pleas to send a search for him. It took weeks to sail the route to Tayedikal, and by the time he could dispatch the ship they would be safely in port. She pressed further, but he would hear none of it.

"You're being foolish," he told her. "Your dreams are manifesting your fears."

"I saw Margus before he died," she insisted, resting her hands on his shoulder to emphasize her desperation. "I saw the Battle Alpha…"

He struck her down, silencing her. "Don't you _ever_ speak of that again!"

She stared up into his angry face, allowing a single tear to fall down her face. It stung as it passed over the new mark on her cheek. "He's your son," she whispered.

"My son is dead!" He stormed out, slamming a door behind him as he retreated to his study. She could hear the sounds of books and other items being thrown to the floor on the other side. Each new crash caused her to startle. "He's dead," he shouted again and again until his voice weakened and the sounds of sobs emitted through the door.

She rose to her feet and made her way towards the bedroom where she hoped to find enough peace to gather her thoughts alone. Kristoff wasn't ready to accept Margus' death, he certainly lacked the facilities to handle ill news of Andras. She was driven by the need to retain what she had left. A mother mourned every child lost, but fought even harder to keep those that still lived. She would fight to keep Andras.

In a small wooden chest she hid under the bed she kept remnants from her old home. She knelt down next to the bed and withdrew the chest, removing from it a candle made of honeycomb and small statuette representing the goddess Aramis. Kristoff had no use for deities, but she had kept the gods her people worshipped close to her heart. Her hands hook, tears became more abundant on her face. "Not Andras," she repeated as she set up her small altar. Now she hoped the goddess remembered her loyalty all these years and would repay her with a small miracle. She lit the candle and said her prayer to Aramis. "Please," she begged through her tears. "Please let Andras be alive. Please keep him safe. I'm not ready to lose my last son. Please…

"Bring him home!"

* * * * *

When Andras' eyes opened he saw a cloudy sky above him, and the sounds of the ocean filled his ears. He was cold, his soaking wet clothes clung to his skin and leached the heat from his body. His limbs felt dull and heavy and when he tried to move he started to gag. He spit out a mouthful of water and rolled over, gagging and coughing even more. He coughed so hard that he almost vomited more than once and he couldn't get much of a break in between to inhale once again. His chest hurt like he had been kicked by a horse and his hand clutched at it as he coughed, unable to ease the pain he felt with each hacking breath. It took a short while to subside, but at last he was able to breathe uninterrupted. The need to cough still clung to the back of his throat, and he answered it on occasion, wincing in discomfort each time.

Still on his knees he looked around, finding himself washed up on a beach that was littered in both directions with wreckage. In the distance he could see billows of smoke from the assailing ship as it burned down to its own watery grave. He felt no pity for them. They got what they deserved, and it was his only small consolation for what the meeting had cost him.

Were there others?

He looked for them, but nowhere could he find evidence of anyone else that survived. Struggling to his feet he began to stumble down the beach, looking for a hopeful sign anywhere. He found the body of a youngling drayk, speared through the neck with a piece of debris. It lie dead close to where he woke up. Maybe that was what brought him here. Wherever "here" was.

Then another horrifying thought occurred to him. Maybe that was the drayk that the other three tried to escape on. Carnelian, Zalex and Luke… none were accounted for. He felt sick all over again.

"I should be dead," he told himself in a voice rough with disuse, and he thought it a few times after that. He should have drowned, in fact he did drown if he recalled correctly. His mind played back the foggy memory of his meeting with his brother, and how Margus had touched him and the curious words he said, "It's time to wake up now." What did that mean?

Thoughts for another time. He shook them off best he could as he struggled on unsteady feet to search through the wreckage. He needed to find something, something that showed the others survived or… he hated to think… something to show they had not. One cloak-covered lump caused his heart to speed up, as he approached he feared he would find the evidence he hoped didn't exist. He removed the soggy material, turning his face at first, then gathered the courage to look. He sighed in relief. A servile. Most of its body remained intact, though part of an arm and both legs were missing. He didn't remain long to examine it. His stomach couldn't take it.

He continued his search, the pain in his shoulder elevated from a dull throb to a sharp stabbing pain. He couldn't move that arm very well, making the task of sifting through wreckage a bit more difficult. When he did move it, he was sorry, the pain neared unbearable.

Further down the beach the wooden debris had lessened, and still he had found nothing to confirm his hopes or fears. He had found nothing to help himself, either. He knew he ended up on the very island they tried to avoid, Sucia. Barred for a good reason, he assumed, but here he was. The Shaper Council would have fits if they knew he stood here now. He hoped they would forgive the circumstances.

He most certainly had not chosen to come here.

Or did he? When he took the youngling drayk close to the forbidden island, had he invited the bestial men upon his peers? The question brought with it a dark sense of guilt that he couldn't shake. He hadn't done all this, never asked for it, but yet he felt somehow it was because of him. And if Carnelian had died because of it, that was his fault, too. He shuddered.

"Foolish," he said aloud, chastising himself for actions he could describe no other way. Foolish. He had been a fool to think no harm came of looking. The Council barred islands or settlements for good reason, and in defying their ruling he brought upon them all ill fortune.

Several had been lost to the sea, he assumed they drowned by now. Maybe not, but he couldn't go out to look for or rescue them. If they still clung to life now, it wouldn't be long before cold, thirst, or the ocean claimed them. Unless they could swim to shore.

He doubted that. Shapers didn't swim.

Further down the beach he saw organic clumps scattered over the sand. He hurried his pace, knowing it wouldn't hold favorable news but he had to know. The pieces were meaty chunks with scales. Another drayk… another youngling. He found the body with the head attached by the virtue of a couple tendons and nothing more. Not what he hoped to find, but nothing shy of what he expected.

A sinking feeling took over his gut. The more he looked around, seeing the youngling drayk's body in so many pieces, he knew there could only be one conclusion. He didn't want to think about that, not unless he found something he couldn't deny.

Out in the water he spied something. Not far from the sandy beach, clinging to one of the many rocks littering the shore, he saw blue. His stomach tightened even more, and his breaths became shallow and irregular. He didn't want it to be what he already knew it was… a cloak. A cloak worn by a student from Delbin, just like the one Carnelian had worn.

And Zalex, he reminded himself in order to give himself a small glimpse of hope.

He dashed in the water after it, trudging through the frothy water until it was waist deep on him. The lazy waves rocked him, but weren't strong enough to rob his footing. He reached out his good hand and entwined his fingers in the material. With a tug he pulled it towards him and examined it. It was a cloak, just as he expected, but he saw no body nearby. A cloak didn't prove anything alone, but with the drayk's body scattered over the beach, it offered a grim conclusion.

It could be Zalex.

He headed back to the beach, clutching the cloak close. Once out of the water, he untangled the garment and held it up. Height didn't say much except that it didn't belong to Caen and that much he could already deduce. He searched through the folds for something else, not expecting to find anything. A glint of silver peaked through, a chain. He held his breath as he retrieved the necklace. It had been caught on a loose thread in the stitching, but he pulled it loose without effort and let the cloak drop to the ground. The silver amulet bore the ancient Shaper rune representing loyalty.

The cloak was Carnelian's.

The realization whose cloak and necklace he had found stole the strength out of his legs. He collapsed to his knees, still staring at the amulet. He couldn't pry his eyes away, and he couldn't accept what it meant. The guilt that found him before resurfaced, bringing with it the responsibility of Carnelian's death to weight heavy on his conscience.

His stomach had enough. The overwhelming sick feeling, the ache of guilt, it all hammered down on him in a single instance. He vomited.

Something rustled through the bushes in the tree line not far from where he knelt. He ignored the sound, convinced nothing mattered now. Then something hit him. A weak ball of fire pelted against his injured shoulder, sizzling as it evaporated away the salt water that saturated the clothes he wore. Without adequate dry fuel the fire died seconds after it hit him. It still hurt, the burning pain made him grimace. He turned towards the attack, finding a small red reptile just a few yards away. It danced around on ancy feet, and yelped when it made eye contact. A fyora. Another ball of fire left the creature's mouth and headed for him. He jerked back just in time and it sailed passed him, heating his face enough to know how close it had been. Too close.

He struggled to his feet, and the creature hissed in warning. As far as fyoras went, this one was small, standing perhaps 3 feet in height. Yellow eyes followed every movement he made, and the long snout would send another fireball after him if he stood still for any length of time. He jumped out of the way, feeling the heat pass by each time.

"Enough!" he shouted at it, expecting to see a hint of Shaper obedience that should have been bred into it. Nothing. It continued attacking him, hissing at him as he dared come closer. He snatched up the soggy cloak he rescued from the waters and held it up. A sidestep would dodge more fire, and soon he managed to get close enough. He tossed the cloak over the creature, then dove for it. The beast screamed.

A short struggle, then it was over. He sliced the throat with the dagger he kept at his belt, the one his mother gave him at the docks. The fyora's body stilled soon after and he released it, stealing back the cloak. His arm had taken further injury from the creature's teeth as it bit and slashed to be free. The new wounds bled freely, leaving dark droplets on the sandy earth below. He glanced down at the punctures in his forearm, cursed the little beast, and tossed the cloak down. Torn apart and covered in fyora blood, it served no more purpose for him now.

His arm hurt more than ever.

This creature had not shown any submission towards him as a Shaper. A rogue, he thought. On a Shaper island long since abandoned, it seemed unlikely there would be anyone around to shape one, so it had to be a rogue. There must have been creations left when the Shapers retreated, and they had managed to breed. Generations without Shaper control could very well breed rogues, even if the original creations had been obedient. He expected there would be more, and his bleeding arm would attract them.

The new threat gave him purpose, and he decided he would continue heading east. If Shapers lived here once, there should be buildings. Shaping halls, containment facilities, quarantine, and perhaps even remnants of homes. There could be something here he could use for shelter, perhaps find some weapons and a means to bandage his arm.

He retrieved the necklace he had dropped in the scuffle with the fyora, and secured it in the doeskin pouch at his belt. The chain needed repair. He would fix it as soon as he had use of both hands again.

He followed the shoreline for a better part of the day, his progress slow and labored. He saw no further signs of wreckage or remains scattered around. He was glad to not find a body, but his stomach still felt heavy. He knew what happened to the other three. How could the drayk be rendered in pieces and the passengers aboard it not be? Perhaps the bodies had been so shattered they never made it to shore.

"Stop it," he scolded himself. If he allowed himself to dwell on that thought much longer he would vomit again. It was not a vision he wanted to entertain… ever.

On occasion he heard more rustling in the tree line, and the feeling of eyes watching him followed him but nothing ever emerged. He was glad for that.

Ahead he saw what he hoped to find… a Shaper building. Only an entrance stood visible, hidden behind trees and undergrowth but the giant stone pillars leading to a stone door. The building followed the typical style of Shaper architecture, simple and purposeful. Runes were etched over the entryway. Though he lacked proficiency in deciphering runes that his Shaper-bound classmates were certain to have, he recognized enough to take a guess. In the symbols he recognized the words "holding," and "passage." It sounded like quarantine.

Made sense.

Every new settlement built quarantine facilities near the main inlet. This prevented dangerous creatures from coming through unexpected, blocked entry of enemies to the Council, or those with diseases from contaminating a settlement. He had passed through a quarantine in the past, and underwent the thorough investigation by numerous creations. Each had a special purpose, some smelled, others tasted, yet others invaded the mind. The last had bothered him, he hated how exposed it made him feel, but in the end he was able to pass through. After so much time, he expected none of that to still be employable. Not many creations could withstand years of neglect.

He approached the door, locating the pressure switch on the wall to the right. He pushed it hard, expecting the mechanism that opened the door would not work after this much time. A small hiss as pressure released, dust kicked up, then with a rumble the stone door slid out of the way. Surprising.

Inside the building held no light. Shapers did not incorporate windows in their architecture often, and the lack of light meant he could see not more than a dozen feet in front of him. He stepped through, his footsteps sending up small billows of dust. He coughed on the first full breath of the stale air. A couple breaths later he was used to it. Ahead he could see the faint outline of a table.

Another hiss and the stone door slid closed leaving no light to see by.

"_Aluminos_!" he called out in a blind hope that there might still be functional light crystals inside. A faint glow appeared, just enough to see the outlines of where he walked. Given a moment for his eyes to adjust, he could make out the items that lay strewn about. Shapers were known for organization, but already he could see eating utensils scattered about the floor, unused candles on the table, floor, and a ways down the hall. Either the Shapers here left in a great hurry, or the place had been ransacked since. Not that it mattered. It had been awhile since any living being had been inside. Nothing had disrupted the thick layer of dust on any surface he spied. A recent visit would have been hard to miss.

The crystals gained intensity, and the light stretched further. He trudged down a hall, hoping to find a weapons cache or better yet, a medical ward. There could be pods that still held potency adequate for healing. Doubtful, but worth hoping for. As he traversed to a new wing, the light crystals faded and died, sensing they were no longer needed. Or, they tired out. "_Aluminos_," he commanded again. New crystals sprang to life, taking a minute or two before achieving full intensity.

In a well maintained facility, the crystals would sense his movement and illuminate prior to him arriving. These were old and tired. He was grateful they worked at all.

What would Margus have written in his journal about this place? He wondered without purpose how his brother might have sketched out the plain halls and unremarkable rooms.

"Rich with history," his brother would have written in the description. This was a Shaper facility. Didn't matter if nothing of value remained inside it, Margus would have found it interesting. "Devoid of life," was how Andras would have written it. At that moment he thought it would be great to have a journal to write things in. He would not be sailing home any time soon. Keeping a log of what he saw on the island might prove useful later on. Even if everything looked as lifeless as the quarantine facility, that would be something worth reporting.

If he found parchment and something to write with, he vowed to do just that. For now, his attention focused on more useful items. Room after room he found nothing he needed. Bowls, plates, spoons, knives. Nothing that would offer protection in the event he met more rogues. Nothing that could help his wounded arm. He found a book in one room, but it appeared to have fallen victim to moisture at some point, and had rotted to the point of being illegible. He tossed it aside.

Most rooms were holding cells and he expected them to be empty. A few had shackles still fastened to the floor. They would have contained rogue creations. The rest were simple stone rooms, no windows, no furniture. Holding cells for defiant seviles, or suspicious travelers. Decaying straw still remained in the corners of many. Those were the beds the captives would sleep on. Beds of serviles.

One holding cell contained a skeleton. He stumbled upon that unexpectedly, jerked back in surprise, and closed the door in haste. After regaining enough sense about him to look harder, he found it to be the skeleton of a roamer. The bones were clean of flesh and white, save for the dust that covered them. It had been dead awhile.

Good thing. He wasn't anxious to find one alive.

He found old sleeping quarters, probably for whoever had manned this station. The light crystal responded to his voice with a lazy glow. Dust coated everything inside, just as everywhere else in the building. This was the most promising room so far. He hadn't found any supplies he could use, but he needed rest, too. He shut the door behind him, dragging a wooden chair over to prop against it. The lock had been damaged and couldn't engage properly. If a rogue tried to search him out, he hoped the chair would hold it long enough to warn him.

Satisfied with the make-shift booby trap he had set at the door, he dropped himself on the mattress. A plume of dust kicked up and choked him. He waved it around with his hand as he coughed. Outside offered more appealing sleeping quarters than this, if he didn't fear the rogues that prowled the woods. Asleep with a bleeding wound, he would prove to be quick and easy prey. He wasn't ready for that just yet.

He laid back on the musty mattress. The smell of age assailed his senses, but he did his best to ignore it. The bag of dust would support him while he slept, assuming he could sleep. His body longed for the rest, but his mind couldn't promise any with thoughts of Carnelian still plaguing him. He hoped he was wrong, and somewhere somehow she still lived. Without a body to prove otherwise, he was free to imagine she survived and now looked for him even though he knew it wasn't likely.

He tucked his injured arm close to his body and, through the pain, managed to grab hold of short and troubled sleep.

Andras awoke to more pain than he fell asleep with. The injuries on his forearm hurt even more, and when he summoned the light crystal back to life he saw the hand became swollen while he slept. He sat up, unwrapping the material around his arm, wincing each time something pulled against the skin. His pulse beat steady from his shoulders all the way to his fingers. Once exposed, he examined the bite wound. The edges were puffy and red, and the blood that oozed out had the company of a purulent discharge. It smelled awful.

An infection. Just what he needed.

Fyora saliva was known to contain a weak toxin that could bring about infection and illness. A healthy Shaper had no cause for concern. Even without healing spells, the infection would clear in a few days and the wound would heal. Andras was anything but healthy. Battered, wounded, hungry, and thirsty he made a great candidate for something more serious. Perhaps serious enough his life would be in danger.

But the pain concerned him more than anything else. He could barely think now.

Carnelian, where are you?

Carnelian would know what herbs to use. She could make a salve or a poultice that would ease the pain and expedite the healing. She knew herbs well, and excelled in potion making. Alchemy would be her specialty when they arrived at Tayedikal. He was certain of that. She would be the best in her class.

If they arrived at Tayedikal. He didn't even know if she were still…

She _is_ alive. He told himself that over and over again. He needed to believe it. She's alive somewhere, and perhaps she needed his help as much as he needed hers. If she encountered rogues on the island, she would have little in her arsenal except to flee and hide. Perhaps they held her cornered somewhere and he needed to find her.

The thought motivated him to move.

He rewrapped the arm, a little tighter hoping the pressure would reduce the swelling. He tried to remember the things Tanor taught him. Agents were not without their arsenal of quick tricks to use in situations like this, but his capacity for focused thought had diminished awhile ago. His throat longed for water, his stomach ached for food, and his head pounded to the same rhythm as in his arm.

With his good hand he removed the wooden barricade he set in front of the door and emerged in the dark hallway.

"_Aluminos_," he called forth the crystals once again. They answered him more quickly this time, and he started down the hall towards what he hoped would be an exit. He shivered. A strange thing to do when the air was still warm. He held his arms close to his body for warmth, finding that he couldn't stop the shivering. His teeth chattered, his body quivered. Chills. He had a fever.

Perfect. The infection progressed quicker than he expected.

He turned the corner two more times, passed more holding cells, then met up with another large stone door similar to the one he entered through. In a functional quarantine facility there would have been guards posted at this door, demanding documentation to show he had passed the first phase of the check-through. Nothing waited for him except the shadows, dust, and solitude. He searched for the pressure-switch to activate the door, finding it well hidden behind a narrow table with crumbling paper strewn over it.

He hurried over to push it, then stopped. Something looked off, different from what he expected in this old deserted place. He touched the papers, finding they didn't harbor the same coating of dust everything else did. His head turned as he stepped back, his eyes scanned for other signs something was amiss. It didn't take long to find what he failed to see before.

How he missed it before, he didn't know. Perhaps through the chattering teeth, throbbing headache, and pain in his arm his mind had too much to think about to notice subtle changes around him. Tanor would have been disappointed. An Agent should never miss something like that.

Leading to where he stood from the other hall was a trail disturbing the dust. Some places distinct foot prints were discernable, others looked like something had swept over the floor as they walked. Cloaks, perhaps, or… or a dress. A floor-length dress like the one Carnelian wore.

The thought uplifted his spirits, and he worked with renewed purpose. He gave the switch a hefty shove. It hissed, and with a rumble the door drew back. Daylight blinded him from the other side. It took a minute or so before he could tolerate the brightness without causing himself more pain. Once he could open his eyes without squinting or tearing up, he wandered outside into a grassy area with trees skirting the perimeter. There were more walls around to keep the area secure, but the coverage could encompass an impressive amount of land. He could not see where the walls ended, just the portion around him where they began.

There would be another check point soon, and his best guess was to head north. If that didn't yield anything he would try west. North seemed more sensible to try first.

The air outside proved to be colder than inside, and he shivered harder than before. His breath felt hot in the back of his throat, and his skin felt unusually sensitive everywhere signaling his fever's continued ascent. It had been years since he felt this ill, but he remembered in graphic detail how it affected him before; last time the fevers overtook his mind, causing him to hallucinate terrible visions and endure horrific nightmares. Vera suffered the same affliction with him; she was six at the time, and he eleven. Whether or not age affected the outcome, his fevers eventually broke, hers killed her.

A simple draught could have saved her life, but Kristoff had been too busy to make it.

Thoughts of Vera caused his jaw to tense and anger to brew within. Best to dismiss that for now. He focused ahead, reminding himself that Carnelian could be waiting for him not far from here. It was enough to get him moving once again.


	6. Chapter 6

GeneforgeChapter 6 Tricia Martin

Chapter 6- First Impressions

"Good morning," a female voice greeted him the moment his eyes opened. For a moment, he thought he heard Carnelian's voice. He remembered seeing her smiling as she spoke to him moments before he lost consciousness. He expected to see her sitting near the small fire across from him. Instead, Anela's weary face smiled back as she poked the fire back to life with a long stick.

"Where are we?" he asked in a groggy voice. Clearing his throat didn't help it sound any better.

"You don't remember?" she asked, sounding none too surprised. He tried to, but the events leading up to his black out were still foggy in his mind. Looking around he saw trees, old and tall, looming above. The fire that did little to keep him warm crackled away in the little nest Anela had built in the dirt. Plants littered the ground beneath the wooden giants. Shrubs, tall grasses, and saplings. At first glance it looked like the grounds of Mennetak. "Sucia Island, do you remember the attack?" she prompted.

Sitting up proved difficult with the stiffness that had settled into his body. It took three tries before he succeeded. The maroon robe that had been draped over him slipped down and revealed he wore little underneath. He checked beneath to verify he still had pants. The elbow of his uninjured arm supported him against the sandy dirt beneath him. Slowly, he began to move his limbs to loosen them up, finding his left arm swollen and painful. The fyora… he remembered the rogue that attacked him on the beach. In an instant, all the memories flooded into his mind. The attack on their sea-Drayk, drowning and Margus' strange words to him, the search through the wreckage, being attacked by the rogue, searching the quarantine facility. Try as he might, however, memory of Anela didn't come to him. He remembered Carnelian.

"Carnelian… where is she? She found me…"

Anela shook her head. "_I_ found you, Andras. You're the only one I've seen still alive." She set her stick down next to her, leaning it against a rock. Her dress was soiled, hanging on her body like rags. Her face looked thinner than he remembered, and was surrounded by curly brown hair that frizzed out in a mess of tangles.

"I saw her," he insisted. He tried to push himself to an upright position, but his body resisted. Too stiff still; he waited.

Anela rose to her feet and walked over to him, kneeling down next to him to help him up. Once he sat upright she settled in next to him, folding her hands in her lap. "You're the only one I've seen alive, Andras," She repeated. "I don't even know or understand how you survived. I saw what happened, I saw the explosion. You should have died. In fact, I thought you did."

He stared at her. He thought _she_ died. She fell into the water during an evasive maneuver, and he didn't think it possible for any of those lost to the sea to make their way to the island. Shapers don't swim, and even for a strong swimmer it would have been an exhausting journey.

"How did you get here?" he asked. With some effort he drew his legs in to sit cross-legged. He cringed and groaned a moment as the body complained the forced posture with pain.

"Well, thankfully I float," she began. "I discovered early on if I lay on my back, I floated on the water's surface. After the explosion, there was an abundance of wood in the water. I drifted… or it drifted… close enough that I could reach it."

"And?" he waited for more, something a little more spectacular or heroic.

"And… I drifted to shore. I walked in the direction I remembered seeing buildings and found this place." She smiled a triumphant smile. "And then, of course, I found you." Her eyes drifted towards his arm. "A rogue, I assume?" He nodded. "Rogue what?"

"Fyora," he answered, feeling stupid to have been injured so badly by such a pathetic creation. It would have felt a little less demeaning to report the injury as the result of an encounter with a glaahk. He glanced down at the bandaged forearm, noticing a generous packing of herbs beneath the wrap. He peeked beneath the material finding a yellowed plant with hair-like consistency. It was familiar.

"Wiry moss," she answered before he could ask.

"Wonderful healing properties," he recalled with a smile. She smiled back and nodded.

"Was lucky to find that," she said, gesturing towards his arm. "You were in a bad way when I found you. It was infected, and you had a terrible fever. All from a Fyora?"

The insult settled in a little deeper. Even a Shaper student saw that as a sorry story. "Not all," he declared in a hurry to reclaim some of his dignity. He glanced down at the garish slice from the peak of his shoulder down to the meat of his bicep. "From the attack," he explained. She cringed at the sight of it. That's what still caused him so much pain when he moved, suggesting the blade that gave it to him bit well into the muscle. The fyora's bite was incidental now that much of the swelling had gone down.

He attempted to stand, having to accept help from a woman to do so.

"Where are my clothes?" he asked. He didn't like the feeling of standing around her without much to offer him modesty.

"You were asleep for three days," she answered as she retrieved his belongings that she had stashed behind a small boulder nearby. She handed him his tunic first. His robe, his belt, everything but his pants had been removed. He didn't want to know how she got most of the things off him, nor why. Once he had the tunic on, he examined it a moment. The black material showed the hard life it had endured while worn by him. His left arm had enormous rips and numerous tears in it, and the frayed edges surrounding the holes were still stiffened by dried blood. It wouldn't be wise to keep the rag long. Even dried blood attracted predators, though not as readily as fresh blood.

"Three days?" he repeated in disbelief.

"Your fever…" she offered as an explanation. "I found tunnel weed and made a broth of that, but without adding whisker plant the potency was poor. I removed most of your clothing and used wet compresses to cool you down, but to be honest I expected the fever would claim you." She held out his belt which he accepted and donned. He didn't like to think of her undressing him, Carnelian would be furious, and took to busying himself with his belt and situation the dagger and the pouch on it. Once he finished with his attire he looked around at the small camp Anela had made. She had collected several of the mugs and bowls from the quarantine compound, some still had water in them. He dashed for one. His mouth longed for the feel of water.

"No!" she knocked the mug out of his hands. He nearly strangled her that moment, but instead he waited with a glaring look for an explanation. "It's sea water!"

"What?"

"It's what I used to keep you cool. I haven't found fresh water yet. " She pulled a small green fruit out of another mug and presented it to him. "It's the last one. I saved it for you… in case you woke up. It'll help with the thirst."

She was exalted to goddess that moment, if such a being could exist. He took the fruit from her and ate it in three bites. The flesh was tart, but the meat proved sweet and juicy. In the center a large seed hindered his progress, and he tossed that aside and finished the rest. His hands and chin felt sticky. The saltwater Anela deterred him from proved sufficient to wash up with, though now his stomach awakened and wanted more. It would have to wait.

"Have you found the way out?" he asked as he dried his hands off on his robe. She nodded.

"That way," she pointed to the northwest. "I haven't been inside. The door's jammed, I think. It wouldn't open for me."

Andras helped her pack up the few supplies they felt might prove useful later, wrapping them up in her burgundy robe and slinging the resulting sack over his good shoulder. Anela assured him no rogues prowled inside the quarantine grounds, not that she had seen, and so Andras headed northwest at an unworried pace. His shoulder still throbbed, even more now that he had tried to use it on occasion without thinking. If they did meet rogues, they were both in trouble. He was in poor shape to fight anything, even fyoras.

It didn't take long to reach the door she had promised. It resembled the door he encountered at the last facility; a large heavy stone door hidden behind a shadowed entryway with ancient Shaper runes engraved. Again, he recognized "holding" and "passage". This would be the second portion of quarantine. Security tended to be higher here, but no guards stood nearby to block entry or demand clearance papers. He searched for the switch, finding it after Anela pointed it out. He pushed against it, but as she promised it didn't budge.

He examined the switch, noticing around the edges a dark substance. Some sort of sap or tar which had hardened over the years. It didn't appear as though anything nearby could have, by chance, dripped on the switch. Someone had done it on purpose, as though trying to keep the door from being activated. Someone afraid of something that might get out…

He didn't have time to contemplate the reasoning the Shapers might have had for sealing the switch. He gauged it, took a couple steps back, spun around and kicked it. The dark substance crackled and shattered as the large round stone sunk into the wall. Air hissed, and the door slid open, stirring up dust. He looked over at Anela who gave an admiring nod of approval.

Once inside he summoned the light crystals once again. A faint glow erupted from the ground, taking a couple minutes before they could see well enough to move about. Rather than walking into branching hallways, they stepped into a large depthless room. Andras walked blindly until he reached the back wall and called to life more crystals. In the dim light he could make three tables with books on each. Against the walls were several evenly distributed book shelves with heavy volumes weighing down their planks. One had given up the battle and collapsed, leaving broken books and loose pages scattered across the floor.

"Strange, isn't it?" Anela called from the opposite side of the large room. Her voice echoed off the walls. He turned.

"What's strange?"

"They would leave all their books here," she answered. She pulled one off the shelf, cradling it one arm as she flipped through the pages. "They look to be records of those passing through here. There are quite a few." She replaced the book and retrieved a light crystal from the floor. Held in her hands it afforded more light to read by. She stopped by the table and book to the far left. Andras mimicked her by taking his own crystal and approaching the far right book.

He expected when he opened it that he would find a ledger of those who had come through here, but instead it read like a spell book. He flipped a few more pages, skimming the words. The script was old fashioned, highly slanted and difficult to read but after extensive investigation he concluded it to be a detailed account of how to shape a fyora. How appropriate.

"Care to shape something?" he asked. She dismissed him. "Not a book you'd expect Shapers to leave lying about," he mused aloud. Mages were blinded or put to death if they read a book of this magnitude without a Shaper giving it to them. These weren't secrets left in the open. He thumbed through further. More shaping instructions… cryoas, roamers, clawbugs. He was tempted to take the book with him. Maybe it would have use to him later.

"This book has spells in it," Anela exclaimed as she made it to the second book. He smiled to himself. Yes, didn't he just say that? "What is it doing here?"

"Good question," he answered, closing the heavy volume in front of him.

"They must have left in a terrible hurry," she pondered with a sigh. Her hand rested on the book in a loving manner. He hadn't seen her look at anything with such adoration since sharing the boat with her.

"Unless they never got out." It was a grim thought. Andras looked around the room, finding much of the disarray here that he saw in the last building. Very unlike Shapers.

"Wouldn't there be skeletons about?" She looked around, too, visibly concerned by the thought.

"Depends on what happened to them. We haven't looked around much. There could be." She shuddered. "Which begs the question… should we be trying so hard to get in?" Perhaps not, but Andras knew what waited the other direction- rogues and ocean. Perhaps if they kept looking in that direction they would find food and fresh water, but he couldn't wait that long. His best hope for resources lay beyond this facility, even if the biggest threat did too.

"Do you think they were trying to keep something in?" she asked in a meek voice.

He shrugged, which hurt. "Perhaps." Quarantine facilities are built to keep things out, not in. It would have been a desperate effort.

He urged them forward, stating they could come back to the books later when they had ample food and water in their bellies, but now there were few things that ranked higher on his priority list. Carnelian would have been one, if there were anything he could do for her now other than hope somewhere somehow she still lived.

If she was alive now, and he kept telling himself she _was_, what would she be doing? Would she be sitting at some make-shift encampment with a meager fire, scrounging for food? Who was with her? Maybe Luke or Zalex also survived. Carnelian knew her plants well, but if they were to encounter rogues he feared the worst. Zalex showed he had some skill back on the boat, but the other two would be bait.

He didn't like thinking her fate could rest on Zalex. Even in his sorry condition, he would rather it be his burden.

The compound was large, and the halls branching from the large room formed a maze. The dust on the floor helped keep track of where they had been. If they saw footprints, they had been there before. Nothing else stirred here. They found more holding cells, yet another with a dusty skeleton in it. Anela shrieked when she saw that. Andras chuckled to himself.

At the end of one of the halls they spied a door with an unusual glow emitting from it. It didn't glow a dull pale yellow like the light crystals, but a bright blue. They glanced at one another, and then hurried to it. Andras' first thought was an essence pool. They put off a similar light, though it seemed an odd place to keep one. A normal arrangement would find an essence pool in the heart of a well-protected Shaping hall. Not to mention, he doubted one would last through so much neglect. They were delicate.

Behind the door they did not find an essence pool as he had hoped, but a strange glowing canister. It had a metal frame encasing a glass core. Inside a substance that glowed bright blue… purified essence if he guessed right. He had never seen so much.

"What is it?" Anela asked. He had hoped she knew the answer. He knelt down in front of it, his eyes scanning over the smooth glass sides and engraved metal cap on top.

"Essence, I would guess," he answered her. Essence wasn't much use to Shapers that couldn't shape yet, except it offered healing properties that Andras needed. He reached a hand out to pick it up, looking over at Anela who seemed to agree. He should take it.

How exactly does it open?

As soon as his palm touched the center on top the glass broke and the glowing liquid splattered onto the ground. His first instinct was to try to scoop up and salvage what he could with his hands, but before he could touch it the liquid began to evaporate into a luminescent blue haze. It drifted up into his face until he breathed it in through his nostrils. The moment he took in a lungful of the vapor he felt something change. A strange, electric sensation spread through his body, the markings on the backs of his hands glowed. His heart started to pound, he could barely breathe. Something began to build within him, like something struggling to be free of the confines of his body. He fought to contain it, his survival depended on it, as he felt himself lifted off his knees. Stop, he screamed inside his head. Stop!

The feeling left him abruptly and his body dropped limp to the ground. His eyes could see only darkness but his ears could hear Anela calling his name and soon he could feel her touching his arm. It was his injured arm, and the moment she shook it he grimaced in pain. It didn't feel any better. The essence hadn't worked.

"What happened?" she asked him again. He pushed up with his good arm, still cradling the other against his body. She stared down at him curiously.

"Can't get enough of that?" Anela asked, trying to don a reassuring smile.

"What?" It took a moment before he realized what she spoke of. The essence… it felt exactly like what happened during the Awakening ceremony when the purified essence touched him. The realization made him shudder.

"What did the professors say last time?" He stood, again with her help. His pride took a beating every time she had to assist him.

"Nothing I didn't know already. Nobody knows what happened. It feels… odd."

"I don't know what kind of Shaper you'll make if you can't tolerate the touch of essence." Her remark stung, but he didn't show it on his face. Instead, he gave a subtle nod of agreement. True. No Shaper would be worth anything without being able to use essence. But he had touched essence before, the kind Shapers used to make their creations, and nothing ever happened. Purified essence seemed to be the culprit. Every time he touched _that_ he had another episode.

Anela could have the next canister, should they find more.

Inside a small storage room Anela let out a sound of excitement. Andras dashed over to see what it was.

"Look, pods!" In her hands she held small brown pods, most were crumbling but a couple looked viable still. "I don't know if it'll be potent enough. They're not meant to last this long, but you should try it, Andras." She handed him one of the lighter color ones, but he stared at it in his hands. "You eat it."

He was leery of eating something like this, especially after what had just happened with the canister, but he obeyed and placed it in his mouth, biting down. It tasted like a mushroom, having a similar texture on the outside. The inside held a sour liquid. His face wrinkled with dislike.

"Sour?" she asked. He nodded. "Spit it out."

He didn't need to be asked twice. She handed him the last one that looked usable. Again he ate that one, but it didn't taste as bad as the first (or he was just used to it now). In a moment he felt warmth radiate into his extremities and concentrate in his injured shoulder. The sensation escalated until it was uncomfortable and he winced in discomfort, but a moment later it was gone and his shoulder felt much better.

"How is it?"

He moved his arm in a circular motion. It still felt tight and uncomfortable but it was much better than before. On his hands he noticed the smaller cuts were gone or almost healed, but the larger gashes were still present albeit smaller.

"It's far from full potency," she explained, noticing his hands as well. "But hopefully it helped." He nodded. Yes, it felt good to move his arm again.


End file.
